


Star Wars: How We Win  (Episode IX Revised)

by aavoigt



Series: Star Wars: How We Win  (Episode IX Revised) [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Deviates From Canon, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Build, Star Wars References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22124395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aavoigt/pseuds/aavoigt
Summary: I didn't like TROS so I'm gonna write my own where Rose is important and Finn and Poe kiss each otherFollow me on Twitter @aaronsxl for completely unrelated content
Relationships: Finn/Rose Tico, Poe Dameron/Finn, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Rose Tico
Series: Star Wars: How We Win  (Episode IX Revised) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592521
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	1. Opening Crawl

Star Wars: How We Win (Episode IX Revised)

The RESISTANCE is crumbling. After barely escaping Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, the remaining rebels find themselves alone in a galaxy that has abandoned them.

While the FIRST ORDER continues subjugating planets at the core and mid rim, Leia Organa gathers allies everywhere she can, but must turn leadership over to Poe Dameron while she finishes training Rey to be a Jedi.

However, General Hux is cutting off all avenues of support. A recruitment mission to Nal Hutta is suddenly interrupted by the sound of incoming starships….

The Star Destroyer Irascible carved a dark shadow above the green-gray outline of Nal Hutta, the ship’s bulk gliding through the blackness like a space crocodile in search of a meal. A relic of the previous war, the Irascible lacked the sophistication of modern dreadnoughts or the maneuverability of the First Order’s obsessively-engineered capital ships, though even a year later, they were still replenishing those numbers after the disastrous “Holdo maneuver.” But what it lacked in functionality, it made up for in style, in prestige, gravitas no amount of shiny new equipment could provide. When the disgusting slug-creatures festering on that mudhole saw the distinctive triangle shape that used to terrorize the galaxy descending upon their wretched city, they’d burrow into their slime holes and beg for salvation from whatever heathen gods they worshipped. That was the power of nostalgia, of symbolism. When wielded as a cudgel, it could turn a lawless rabble into a pack of sniveling cowards to be beaten into complacency.

Hux was still shitty, though. Ren gave him this ship as a joke, thinking its Imperial legacy and taunting name would more than make up for a substandard hyperdrive. Their informants reported the Resistance would be negotiating for supplies and recruits for a week, yet it had taken him nearly that long to drag his ship across the galaxy, after refuels and repairs were in order.

  
Still, he thought, stroking the sprigs of stubble emerging from his youthful cheeks, it would be worth it to see those rebel scum wiped from existence once and for all. For months he’d been Ren’s hound, sniffing out their dens and hidey-holes. While the “Supreme Leader” rampaged across the planets on some children’s crusade for power, Hux was doing the real work of snuffing out the last irritating sparks of rebellion. It would be glorious to finally see the fruits of his labor.

“Commodore!” he barked. “Have we cast our net?”

  
A solemn man in a crisp naval uniform appeared on the bridge, giving him an equally crisp salute. “Sir. The Interceptors are occupying Hutt airspace as we speak. We’re ready when you are.”

  
“Excellent. There’s no time to lose.” Today, Hux would prove that his efforts, his genius were the only things holding the First Order together. When his soldiers saw how it was he, Armitage Hux, who brought down the curs who dogged their steps at every turn, and that their phony Supreme Leader cared about nothing but himself. The First Order would rise up, declare him their true commander, and then, Hux would have the respect he was so desperately owed.

  
“Captain,” he called to the armored figure over his shoulder, “Begin the ground assault.”

#

“They took everything from me. My childhood. My homeworld.” Rose’s voice caught, suddenly dry and husky. “My sister.” No matter how many times she recited the speech, it never got easier. “But I’m still here. No matter how many die, no matter how much they take from us, I’m still going to fight.” She stared out into the crowded cantina, and somewhere in the back, a young man gave her a thumbs up. The hint of a smile curled her lips, and she summoned the strength to keep speaking. “There are things worth saving, worth dying for. Do not let the First Order cow you into fear or lull you into complacency. Join us, and take back what you’ve lost!”

  
Some patrons applauded her politely, but the majority didn’t look up from their drinks. More than a few had heard this speech before, several had heard it multiple times that day, and only a handful were moved to do anything besides jeer. Rose dismounted her podium of empty liquor crates, fighting the urge to cry. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and she planned on doing this twice more until she could crawl into her bedroll and hope for sleep without dreams. With all the enthusiasm of a nerf herder with a broken tailbone, she staggered over to the bar and flipped the Thorian behind it a coin. “Just give me something that’ll feel like a brick to the head.”

  
The alien nodded wordlessly and slid her a shot of some neon-purple beverage. Rose tossed it back, throat pleasantly cool as the drink trickled down her throat. In the background, she heard a young man stumbling through the crowd, and wondered if she should order another round to steel herself for this conversation.

  
“That was brilliant!” Finn said, sidling up to her. “I only caught the last half, but it was all very touching, with the stuff about your family and all.” He got the bartender’s attention and ordered a sci-fi beer. “Get any recruits?”

  
Rose shook her head. “No more than I did yesterday. A few pilots, a failed bounty hunter, and at least one dude who’s definitely a First Order spy.”

  
At that, Finn almost jumped out of his stool. “A spy? Rose, did you give him the location of our ships? If they know where--”

  
She waved him off, straining her face with an eye roll. “I took care of it.”

  
The former stormtrooper cocked his head, lips slightly parted. “Took care of it?” His eyes went wide. “Rose, did you…” After considering it a moment, he just chuckled. “Damn, Rose, you’re cold.”

  
“Don’t be so morbid. I just tased him and sold the asshole to some doctor starting up an organ farm.”

  
Finn winced. “Is that better?”

  
Rose shrugged. “Our tab’s covered.” A slow but steady tingling in her forehead stopped her from focusing on her irritation. “How did talks with the Hutt Council go?”

  
Finn screwed up his face, drained his future beer, and said, “Well, the bright side is we get to leave early.”

  
“Can’t complain about that, I guess.”

  
Rose stood to leave, but was stopped by a gentle hand on her own. “You’re upset.” Finn’s words contained no question, just an observation, and a hint of concern.

  
“Wow, didn’t realize we had two mind readers in the Resistance.”

  
“Rose.” Though stress had creased the rebel hero’s face, it still brought a flush to her cheeks, especially when he focused so intently on her. “Talk to me.”

  
She sighed. “This whole mission was a wild bantha chase. What did Poe expect to achieve by courting crime lords and mercenaries? We don’t have enough money to buy the latter, and the former benefit from war more than anyone else.” Had Poe listened to her complaints, if Leia hadn’t been busy training the only person who could turn this war around, they wouldn’t have wasted a week begging for recruits in this swampy backwater.

  
Finn squeezed her hand gently. “I know. It doesn’t make a lot of sense. But we have to trust Poe. He’s…” He struggled to find the right words. “He’s handling a lot of stuff right now.”

  
A surge of anger rushed through Rose, clearing her foggy mind. “Oh, stuff it. Just because you’re super horny for Poe doesn’t mean we can’t criticize him.” The taste of iron in her mouth made Rose unclench her jaw. She’d unconsciously bit a hole in the side of her mouth, and blood began to trickle onto her tongue, mixing with the sweet alcohol. She would never forget how he disobeyed Leia, how his headstrong attitude robbed her of a sister.

  
Finn looked like she’d slapped him. “I… I... “ He lowered his head, whispering in a deadly serious tone, “I am not horny for Poe Dameron.”

  
If she didn’t care so much about this man she’d feed him a TIE fighter. “Finn. No one cares that you’re bi. It’s 35 ABY, everyone’s horny for everyone. What I care about is that your crush still doesn’t have a coherent plan for taking out Rey’s ex and saving the galaxy.”

  
“Rey’s ex?” He raised a flustered eyebrow. “Do you mean Kylo Ren?”

  
“Finn, you’re so clueless I swear to--” Rose got halfway through her curse before the sensation of a twi'lek dominatrix punching her through the brain wracked her nervous system. Her muscles went slack, and she slumped over onto the bar, just as if she’d taken a physical blow. “Ow.”

  
Finn unfroze from his anticipatory cringe. “Rose, you okay?”

  
“Drink’s kicking in. Make yourself useful and carry me out of here, won’t you?”

  
Smiling, Finn draped Rose’s limp arms across his neck and lifted her from the stool. Together they haphazardly exited the bar, drawing dirty looks from patrons she inadvertently kicked as they made their egress.

  
From the moment he buckled her into the speeder, Finn launched into a lecture about why he was not interested romantically in Poe. “Firstly, he and I are way too busy and focused on the cause to pursue anything at this time. Secondly, I don’t even think of him in that way, our relationship is strictly professional.”

  
With an effort, Rose arched an eyebrow. “Sure. That’s why I can hear your head turning every time he tries to squeeze his ass into the Falcon’s seats.”

  
Finn pressed his lips together. “His hips are just so wide.” He nearly drifted into the opposite lane of traffic until a series of angry gestures from oncoming drivers guided him onto the correct side. “Even if I was into him, he’s not into me, so I’m not even going to give it another thought.”

  
Rose heaved a heavy sigh. “Why do you think that?” While Finn might not have noticed, this was the third time in as many months that they’d had this same conversation. Rose would tease him about Poe, Finn would get defensive, then casually mention that Poe was dropping hints about having a hot date with a bounty hunter or come back to base late at night reeking of debauchery. But that was her role, now. She had to hold the Resistance together in little, unappreciated ways. Whether it was scrounging up new soldiers, catching spies, or mediating Finn’s relationship troubles, Rose would manage it. She’d worked in maintenance her whole life. Fixing stupid problems came naturally.

  
After a moment’s hesitation, Finn swallowed. “I dunno. We were just talking about recruitment efforts, and he mentioned that after the night he had with the Black Sun leader, we’d have enough fighters and blasters to kick the First Order off Coruscant twice.”

  
“Finn, that could mean anything.”

  
A pained expression flashed across his face. “But when I asked how he did it, he just said, ‘I can be very persuasive,’ and waggled his eyebrows at me.” He fixed Rose with an anguished stare. “You know that means they boned.”

  
“No it doesn’t.”

  
“It does and I’m mad about it.”

  
“Good.”

  
Finn gasped. “You don’t mean that.”

  
She was finally regaining control of her muscles. With an effort, she craned her neck to face him. “No, I guess I don’t.” Warmth bloomed in her chest when she saw him grin back at her. “I just like to make you a little grumpy is all.”

  
The pair laughed as they pulled into the spaceport, where the Millenium Falcon was already being prepped for departure. Their fearless leader bounced around the hangar with a manic energy, and Rose didn’t miss the stiffening of Finn’s posture when he caught sight of Poe. She sighed again, loudly and aimed at Finn, before walking up the ramp to her quarters. It would be some time before takeoff, and before everyone boarded the legendary cruiser, she just wanted a few minutes to herself.


	2. Chapter 2

Ord Mantell’s pink skies glowed orange as the fires beneath them raced through the capital city. The Black Sun’s deal with the Resistance had been inevitable, as was their punishment for opposing the First Order. Still, Kylo Ren thought, watching a pair of TIE Bombers fly a slow arc over the city’s central spire, there was a comfort to knowing the outcome of events before they had been set in motion. Like rats in a flooding boat, as his inexorable tide rose, all his enemies would scurry to the surface, banding together in their futile, pathetic attempt at escape. And when they reached the deck, with nowhere else to run? A half-smile creased itself onto Ren’s scarred cheek, he almost felt like laughing as the Bombers’ proton torpedoes collided with the supporting pillar, causing the tallest structure on Ord Mantell to yawn open a jagged hole in its side and come crashing down. 

The rats would step all over each other while the sea swallowed them whole. 

The beeping of his comlink snapped Ren out of the pleasant image. He answered, sneering down at the blue hologram of the man he’d sent off to the Outer Rim in hopes he’d prove useful for once in his life. Even with hyperspace tracking, Hux’s incompetence allowed the rebels to slip through his grasp time and time again. Ren thought of the legends of his grandfather, how he would bend the Force through space and crush the air from the lungs of those who delivered disappointing news. One day, perhaps, Ren would do the same to this red-haired ingrate. 

“Supreme Leader, our assault on Nal Hutta has begun. The Resistance has no place to hide.” The confidence in Hux’s voice masked anxiety in his spirit. Ren delighted in his command of the Force, how it gave him privy to each shameful secret in every lifeform around him, near-omnipotence through virtue of his indomitable will. Even in his hour of triumph, Hux was scared of him.

Good.

“If the Resistance leaders are on Nal Hutta, as you say, they must be brought to the fleet at once. Do not fail me, General.” He thrilled at the spike of nausea felt halfway across the galaxy. “If they cannot tell me where the girl is, I will be very disappointed.” The emphasis on “very” came across as a threat, which it was. Even after he ended the call, Ren could feel Hux’s lingering fear like a bad odor, repulsive but intoxicating. 

The roar of fighters passing over returned Ren’s attention to the burning city. The sight of the skyline in flames calmed him. Despite Hux’s incompetence, if he proved successful, this final blow would bring the Resistance to its knees. Cut off from resources, leaders captured, their supporters would vanish, their soldiers would retreat to die as small-time guerillas or farm moisture on whatever backwaters sheltered them. 

And the girl? 

Ren closed his eyes, visualizing the living Force around him. He could feel its ebbs and flows, a great river of life in which every movement made a ripple. From the center of the worst fighting, the river frothed and churned, the suffering of his enemies echoing out into the world, and it brought a twinge of satisfaction to languish in their grief, even if he could not personally inflict it. 

Another breath, and he seized the river’s flow, reshaping it, redirecting it, until it was not a moving stream but a still, placid lake, with a single island in its center. His uncle had a reputation for knowledge, but the great Luke Skywalker never truly understood the strength of the Dark Side, the way it allowed one to become the master of the Force instead of the Jedi’s passive acceptance of its motion. 

Control. That’s what mattered most to Ren. And soon he would have it. 

In his mind’s eye, he looked at the glass-smooth surface of the lake, admiring his own imposing reflection. There had been a time when he’d worn a mask to hide his face, to honor his grandfather’s own terrifying visage. But as he studied the figure in the lake, his scarred cheek and dark, piercing eyes, Ren felt an uncharacteristic surge of appreciation for his former master. For his faults, Snoke gave him a necessary push away from the past, helped him forge a future for himself. He liked the mask, but he enjoyed even more the terror his sneering expression brought to the lifeforms who gazed upon him. 

“Show me the girl,” he commanded. And the Force, obedient to his will, rippled out across the water, morphing the reflection into a new face, though not one necessarily kinder. There she was, with her hair done in a triple-knot, sweat collected in tiny droplets on her neck and brow as she focused intently on some task. He reached out with his feelings, his desire, his rage, his need to direct this person to do as he asked, yet the Force wavered, as it always had, not revealing any more than the girl’s muscular form. Ren seethed, barked an order no one could hear, demanded again to see more, to know where she was hiding. 

His roar echoed across the lake and the image began to fade, growing frostier and opaque as Ren’s anger grew. Pieces cracked, fractured off and fell back into the water, and as the image fell apart, the girl stopped her task, looked off into the middle distance, directly at Ren. 

For a second, his heart leapt. 

Then her surprised face darkened to a scowl, and the dream shattered. 

#

Rey’s focus broke, and the collection of lightsaber pieces she was levitating clattered to the floor. She cursed, wiped the moisture from her forehead, muttering grouchy epithets for the bastard who kept interrupting her training. Every day, several times a day, she could feel him watching her, always trying to break into her head. There was a desperate quality to his insistence, and it made her sick. The most powerful murderer in the galaxy, and all he wanted was a call back. 

“You okay?” came the voice of her Master. Rey shook herself out of the haze of emotion and looked up at Leia, wrinkled face knotted with something between confusion and amusement. The older Jedi gestured to the metal pieces on the ground. “You dropped something.” 

“Sorry,” Rey muttered, gathering up the scattered components. “Got distracted.” Ren’s brooding visage still played at the edges of her mind. Damn him. 

“Distracted,” the General said with a smirk, “is what happens to Poe when Finn’s stretching and his shirt rides up. You’re not distracted.” She beckoned Rey over to her, patting the temple floor next to where she sat, looking out upon the forest of Yavin IV. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

That was a difficult question. Rey hadn’t told anyone about her connection to Ben. She especially didn’t want his mom to know they’d been Force Skyping. At the same time, she couldn’t deny the anger building, storm clouds that gathered all her life and now threatened to pour. After her failure to turn him, and the loss of both Luke and Han, and the impending re-establishment of the Empire, Rey had a lot on her mind, none of it cheerful. 

Again, Leia waved her over. “You’re pissed, and I know ‘there is no emotion,’ but that’s bullshit.” 

Reluctantly, Rey set aside her lightsaber pieces and joined her master. Even in the midst of stormy thoughts, she couldn’t help but appreciate the moon’s greenery. Too much of her life had been spent scraping sand out of everything she owned, looking out over an ocean of featureless grit. Watching the red-orange gas giant sink beneath the horizon, casting the evening sun scarlet to contrast with an endless forest was, admittedly, kind of nice. 

“What’s on your mind, kid?” The mixture of warmth and concern in Leia’s voice only made her heart ache more fiercely. So much of her partner and brother had rubbed off on the old Jedi, but there was a gentleness, and more than that, a confidence and urgency to cut to the heart of any matter that Rey appreciated. A diplomat’s instincts die hard, apparently. 

“I’m…” Rey tried to gather her thoughts, shape them into something more eloquent, failed, and decided to go for as much honesty as she could muster. “I’m angry,” she began, and as she spoke, the words came faster, like the river behind a broken dam. “And I know it’s not the Jedi way. But it’s not normal to hold everything back, to pretend like we don’t feel happy or sad or lonely.” 

Lonely. More than ever these days, that was the feeling that burrowed deep in her heart like a space mole, and made its home. 

“Every day Ben conquers more. He already holds Coruscant and Corellia. The Mon Calamari can’t hold out forever, and if we lose their ships it’s all over.” She took a shuddering breath, hyper-aware of the increasing tenor of her words. “And it doesn’t matter how much we hurt them, how many dreadnaughts we sink or stormtroopers we defeat. If we lose a single engagement, if one ally flips, it’s all for nothing.” 

She’d never asked for this war. She would have waited for her parents on Jakku until her wrinkled fingers wore down to the bone scrubbing junk for Unkar Plutt. This never had to be her fight. A year ago the war came to her, and she’d done everything in her power to hold on. 

And now everyone expected her to save them. Her, Rey from Nowhere, the savior of the galaxy. 

It wasn’t all bad. She’d gained more than she lost throughout this adventure with the Resistance. A trusted friend in Finn. A respected rival in Poe. A beloved comrade in Rose. But now, cut off from her friends, with the gravity of a thousand star systems on her shoulders, all she wanted was for the suffering to end. 

“It’s unfair.” She looked down at her master, jaw clenched to stop her from crying or screaming, she didn’t know which. “We’re all in pain. And it makes me angry.” 

Leia raised an eyebrow, but not unkindly. After waiting a beat, she exhaled a quiet sigh. “Rey, I’m not Luke. I wasn’t trained by any great Jedi masters, I can’t swing a lightsaber, can’t choke a man to death with the Force--” She stopped, thinking. “Well, when Han was in the mood--”

Rey blanched. “Excuse me?”

“Never mind.” She put a hand on her Padawan’s knee, rubbing slow circles with her thumb. “Point is, I didn’t learn all that Jedi stuff. Not formally, at least. All I know is that the mess we’re in today started because a thousand years ago, a bunch of wizards thought it was a good idea to stop talking about their feelings and never get laid. Which, if you ask me, is pretty fucking stupid.” 

Despite her mood, Rey cracked a grin. The General’s characteristic blunt humor never failed to cheer her up. “Is that why you brought me out here? To meditate in ancient temples about foolish old men?” 

To Rey’s delight, Leia smiled back, rolling her eyes. “Something like that. All I’m saying is that if you’re the future of the Jedi, maybe it’s not such a bad thing to get angry.” She raised a finger as Rey began to protest. “Not too angry, not like Ben.” The Princess placed her palms on the stone floor and, slowly and with effort, pushed herself to her feet. “Just don’t feel bad about your feelings. In my line of work, nothing’s black and white.” 

Not entirely convinced, but still appreciative of her Master’s pep talk, Rey nodded. “Thank you, Leia. I’ll give it some thought.”

“Good. Now tell me about this lightsaber.” 

Thankful for the change of topic, Rey spread out the various saber pieces, excitedly grabbing important parts and piecing them together into a functional prototype. “Well, I wanted a two-sided one, since I’m already proficient in staff techniques. I scavenged enough metal to elongate the handle and give it a better two-handed grip. The problem is getting the blade to come out both sides.” She pressed the emitter, sending a blue crackle of energy into the air, but only on one end of the weapon. “If I had another kyber crystal it’d be much easier, then I’d just have to screw two lightsabers together.” Her brow knitted together in a frown. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find another crystal, could you?” Insight hit her like lightning. “Oh! That’s why we’re here! There must be a secret Jedi stash or a legendary blade I can use!” 

Leia grimaced. “No, not at all. Yavin IV’s just remote and the First Order hasn’t been here in a while. It’s a quiet enough place to train.” 

Crestfallen, Rey looked down, glaring at the weapon’s comically-large grip. 

“But, I think we have all we need right here.” Leia’s posture straightened, and Rey knew where this was headed. This was her regal stance, the way she used to hold herself when sparring with Senators and delivering inspirational speeches. “Tell me, what’s strange about my son’s lightsaber?” 

The question took her by surprise. “It’s… red?” She kicked herself mentally. “No. It has two lateral vents, giving it a sort of crossguard.” 

“You’ve held his sword, the day you fought Snoke. I’m sure, between your Force power and your technical ability, you figured out the reason for that guard.” 

Still confused, Rey thought back to that day, fighting the swell of frustration, the sense of betrayal that the memory conjured. “The blade is unstable. It has an excess of energy, which is the need for the vents. Because…” 

She let the living Force consume her, immerse her in its flow, and asked to be guided toward an answer. That angry red blade took the life of the only real father figure Rey knew. The Force rippled in response to her anger, and she felt its motion slow, pooling around her instead of moving through her. The effect was strange, like plugging a space jacuzzi vent with her fingers, stopping the Force’s motion, giving her a measure of control. 

And with that control, she thought back to that wicked, flickering sword. 

“His kyber crystal is damaged. That’s why it shoots energy everywhere, the vents are to prevent the thing from blowing up.” A wave of understanding washed over Rey. “You want me to crack Luke’s crystal?”  
Leia shrugged. “Desperate times, right kid?”

Reaching out with the Force, Rey disassembled the lightsaber, until all its various pieces hovered overhead. “It’s risky. I’ll have to rewire the power cell and narrow the emission aperture to give the second blade enough length.” Even as she said the words aloud, parts floated together, Rey’s mechanical expertise moving through the Force to make the necessary adjustments. By reducing the saber’s width, she’d be able to reroute the extra power to the cell, amplifying its energy output to create the other half of the staff. With another flick of her mind, the posterior shaft reassembled itself to withstand a torrent of unstable energy, and, Rey hoped, contain it without becoming a big flaming liability. 

As the shell of the saber took shape, Rey nudged Luke’s crystal into the center, squarely between the emitter and the new vent. But when everything was set in place, she hesitated. The crystal in her saber originally belonged to Anakin Skywalker. It seemed wrong to damage it. Some of the most important battles of the Clone Wars were fought with that crystal. Countless Sith felled by Anakin’s hand. 

Countless Jedi, too. Rey thought back, recalling Luke’s words the first time they’d met, how he taught her the errors of the Jedi. She remembered the last time she’d been with Ben, how he begged her to stop holding on to the past. 

Perhaps this act would be the first step toward a future free from the baggage of her predecessors. 

She applied just the slightest pressure, yet she winced when a fracture raced across the crystal’s surface. The resulting energy burst staggered both her and Leia, but the handle itself held. The pair looked on in awe as the shell floated toward Rey, but she grasped the still-warm handle, and took heart at its solid construction. 

Her thumb rested atop the emitter switch. Icy panic trickled through Rey’s spine, and she glanced over her shoulder at Leia, who nodded. “Well, go ahead. It should be very dramatic.” 

She pressed down. A sound like a whip cracking echoed through the temple, and Rey’s eyes widened in surprise. It was heavy, weighted more like her staff than the original weapon. Yet she had to grip hard to maintain control. Blue lightning blazed from the rear vent, almost like a starship engine thrusting a vessel forward. On the front side, the same energy crackled into a thinner blade, but one slightly longer than a standard lightsaber. The ratio was a bit off, as the vented energy wasn’t quite as long as the frontal blade, but she’d made adjustments later. 

It had worked, and that was something to be proud of. 

Rey gave the weapon a few experimental twirls, pleased with its familiar heft. For all the work she’d done with a one-handed lightsaber, this style suited her far better. She might have to re-learn her fighting technique to avoid accidentally cutting her legs off, but the shimmering, crackling weapon in her hands was a genuine saberstaff.

And best of all, it was truly hers. Not Luke’s, not Anakin’s. 

As Rey switched the saber off, she noticed her Master’s huge smile. “Now that’s a hell of a weapon. Good to know this field trip wasn’t just for nostalgia’s sake.” 

“Your guidance has proved most valuable, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

The General waved her hand dismissively. “Save it. I’ve spent my whole life saying nonsense that people thought was profound. That’s just politics.” She gave the much taller woman a huge hug, and Rey was happy to reciprocate. “You did that all on your own.” When they broke apart, a steely glint in the Princesses eye shone brightly. “Now let’s get outta here and put that staff to work.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I had to look up what kind of lasers the Millennium Falcon has Star Wars is so stupid

The unmistakable sound of a TIE fighter squadron rent the skies of Nal Hutta, and Finn’s blood ran cold. No longer was he the Resistance hero, just a scared ten-year-old holding back tears while an old man with a Coruscanti accent screamed that he was worthless. He saw shiny chrome armor and felt its inhuman wearer bring her open hand across his face once, twice, until his lip split open and flecks of hot blood spattered her immaculate uniform. As the ships’ screaming built in volume, Finn could do nothing but dig his nails into his palms and shut the memories out. 

But they still kept coming, like sand trickling through an hourglass, steady and inexorable. 

“Finn!” 

Though he’d been awake the whole time, Poe Dameron’s voice tore him back to reality. He was in the Nal Hutta spaceport, surrounded by the cacophony of a smuggler’s planet caught by the arrival of laser-fascists. Ships shot past without regard for oncoming traffic or whoever might be caught in their afterburners. One light frigate scraped against one of the hangar’s support columns, causing the whole structure to shudder in protest. All around, beings wailed, cried, or simply looked skyward at the familiar and terrible shape of a Star Destroyer hanging above atmosphere. 

“We have to go, get on the ship!” Poe’s tone was more irritated than insistent, but it was tinged with a fear that snapped Finn back into action. 

“Okay,” he began, then, “Wait, where’s all the supplies you got from Black Sun?” 

“Rose is loading them now, but I need you on the turret!” Poe was pushing him now, his thin veneer of calm growing more fractious by the moment. 

Still reeling from the flashback, Finn allowed himself to be maneuvered, stumbling up the _Falcon’s_ ramp and into the grimy interior of the old cruiser. Despite the chaos outside, the familiarity of its dingy furnishings and outdated design helped ground him, reminded him he was, for the moment, safe. With the certainty that came from routine, Finn went through the process of prepping the ship for launch, biting down on the inside of his cheek whenever dread crept back up into his spine. 

Sufficiently convinced that the  _ Falcon  _ was ready, Finn headed down to take position at the ventral turret. Just as he pulled the stupid little targeting headset over his eyes, he saw them. 

Or rather, he saw her. 

Which was impossible. Captain Phasma was dead, cast into fire as the  _ Eclipse’s  _ hangar burst into flame. 

And yet, clear as day, the Captain was walking into the spaceport, flanked on either side by a platoon of stormtroopers who cut a swath through anyone foolish enough to try and halt their advance. Same chrome armor. Same experienced, mechanical precision with which she moved through the battlefield. 

No one’s ever really gone, it seemed. 

Not with an attitude like that, Finn reminded himself, and aligned the targeting grid with her shining profile. Standing out on the battlefield had always seemed like a stupid idea, and it would be nice to test that theory. 

He calibrated the laser, modulating the energy output so that fewer of the regular troopers would be caught in the blast. It was little more than a year ago that Finn himself had been trapped in one of those white shells. Some part of him hoped that he would not be the last defector. And if he wanted to cling to that notion, he’d do well to limit collateral damage. 

But just as Finn squeezed the trigger, the figure in gleaming armor looked up, seemingly directly at him. Then she pounced. 

Like some sort of fantastical alien murder-kangaroo, Phasma shot into the air, well above a searing barrage from the _Falcon’s_ quad lasers, and landed atop the ship with a THUMP that was far too heavy for even a woman of her considerable musculature. Finn looked back down at the targeting grid, at the dozens of former comrades now scrambling for cover, and thought better of it. The First Order continued in the Imperial tradition of not giving infantry proper weapons training, they’d be more of a danger to each other than him. Besides, the pounding on the outside of the ship suggested he had bigger problems. Tearing himself away from the quad cannon, Finn snatched a laser pistol and charged back down the ramp, heart slamming against his ribcage. 

A pallet full of black crates nearly knocked him off his feet. He spun, caught himself, and looked down the ramp at Rose, who was already halfway finished with cursing him. “What the hell are you doing Finn?” 

Before he could answer, a silver blur hurtled between them. Rose’s eyes went wide with horror and realization. “You’re dead, what the fuck? Why doesn’t anyone ever stay dead?” 

If Rose expected an answer, she’d be disappointed. The only reply came in the form of a fist to the sternum, throwing Rose bodily across the cramped hangar. 

“Rose!” He hadn’t meant to scream, but seeing his friend tossed like a sack of electropotatoes into the chaos of a panicked spaceport flipped a switch inside him. Flame tinged the corners of his vision as Phasma turned to face him, somehow managing to make that expressionless helmet look smug. 

“FN-2187,” came the smooth and cruel voice of Finn’s old captain. “Has our separation been as hard on you as it’s been on me?” 

There was a time when Finn would fall for obvious taunts. But the past year had changed Finn, made him stronger, more mature and level-headed. If he played it cool, he could escape this situation without anyone who wasn’t a space Nazi getting hurt. 

“Phasma. I’m surprised Hux cared enough to glue you back together. I’m sure the First Order’s got plenty of other tall, mean ladies.” 

The helmet tilted slightly to the side, as if amused. “Despite his propaganda holo-vids, the General has only ever had one woman he can depend on.” She took a few steps closer, undaunted by the blaster leveled at her face. “Besides,” she purred, voice like a hungry nexu, “I’d hate to leave our business unfinished.” 

Finn risked a glance over at Rose, who was shakily getting back on her feet. “I think I pretty much settled that discussion.” 

“Well, I think I have some new arguments you may find persuasive.” 

“Such as?”

She hurtled at him with the same inhuman speed that she’d used to dodge the quad cannon. Only instinct and raw self-preservation gave Finn enough reaction time to fire off a shot at her outstretched hand. A shower of sparks blinded him, and then he was airborne, lifted aloft by the collar of Poe’s jacket. He could smell burnt metal, looked down to see Phasma’s fingers through her damaged armor, charred and glowing red-hot. 

Ah. The classic mechanical prosthesis trick. Finn wondered how much of the old soldier was meat. Judging by the wreck of the  _ Eclipse _ , there shouldn’t have been much of her to salvage. 

And yet, there was still enough of Phasma’s sadistic personality left in that robot suit to press one burning phalange against his collarbone. Agony lit up his nervous system like a Life Day tree. But he clamped his jaw down so hard it ached, teeth grinding against each other in mutual, harrowing futility. 

He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of hearing him scream. Not again. 

“Finn!”

Both he and Phasma turned their heads to find the source of the shout, eyes landing on Poe, who somehow commandeered a speeder bike which he drove, spearlike, directly at the First Order captain. Even with her cybernetically enhanced limbs, Phasma barely managed to jump out of the way. The bike’s long nose clipped her leg, spinning her into the Black Sun supply crates. Weapons and explosives spilled onto the floor as a dozen boxes buried her. 

Finn, who’d been dropped on the loading ramp, sat up, and found himself looking into the most beautiful face he’d ever seen. Poe Dameron, hair matted with sweat, straddling a dented bike and stretching out a hand, smiled in that crazed way he did when shit hit the fan, and Finn thought his heart might flop right out of his chest. 

“Hey buddy, get off your ass, we are LEAVING!”

But as he accepted Poe’s hand up, he was frozen, again, staring like an idiot at Poe’s scruffy cheekbones, his lower lip that he chewed when stressed, wondered if now, if he leaned forward a little more, he might--

A clawed hand yanked Poe off the bike, and Finn’s daydream shattered. 

“I’m not done with you yet.” Phasma lifted the bike with one arm, angled her body like a javelin thrower, and heaved the speeder into an escaping skiff. The explosion shook the hangar and raised its temperature from stifling to blistering. And in the face of this completely unnecessary show of force, Finn could only raise his blaster, aim down its sights, and pull the trigger as fast as his shaking hands would allow. 

Yet she still came on, steady and inexorable, bolts glancing off her armor as she walked with the same gait as a predator with its prey trapped in a hole. When his blaster overheated, Finn just charged, bellowing and waving the smoking gun. If he went out today, at least he’d give Phasma a fight to remember. He swung, she ducked, brought a durasteel foot into his stomach. Blood sprayed from his mouth, and, as his consciousness threatened to vanish, he dimly wondered if human anatomy was even capable of coughing blood up like that. 

“Poor, misguided FN-2187,” Phasma taunted. “Don’t try to resist.” He could feel cartilage cracking as she eased a foot on top of him. “You can’t escape me. I’ve known you your whole life, soldier.” In a quick movement, she lifted her foot and replaced it with her knee. Finn gasped for breath. 

She bent down, right next to his ear. “And I know you’ve always been scum.” 

The weight of Phasma’s mechanical frame trapped him, and no matter how hard he thrashed, Finn couldn’t escape. Was this how he died? He’d spent so long, fought so hard to escape this woman and the organization she served. And still, they came back, sought him long after he’d fled their constant watch, their simultaneous need to possess a person’s whole being while treating them like waste that could hold a gun. 

Then a sound like a glacier being dropped into a volcano burst from behind them. Another wave of heat fried Finn anew, but it relieved him from the pain of having an evil war criminal on his chest. Phasma lay crumpled several meters away, a scarlet hole sizzling in her torso. He didn’t have time to check if she was truly dead before Rose, dragging a comically-oversized weapon from the Black Sun arsenal, nudged him with her toe. 

“You alive, dummy?”

He couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Barely. Make yourself useful and carry me out of here.” 

To her credit, Rose did sling his arm over her shoulder and heave, but Finn didn’t spend years being abused as a child soldier to not become an anxious, beefy adult. 

“Poe, a little help would be great right now!” 

Immediately, Finn remembered Poe’s injury, and couldn’t breathe when he didn’t reply. Another explosion rocked the hangar, and then, “I’d love to, but I’m a little busy managing the FORTY OTHER STORMTROOPERS you didn’t shoot!” Several more seconds passed, then Poe appeared. Covered in ash and soot, smudged with blood that may not have been his own, but he was there, and Finn could feel the muscles in his neck and jaw relax. With an effort, they lifted their injured friend to his feet and helped him shuffle back up the ramp. 

Despite the vast number of First Order soldiers, the troopers who survived Poe’s gambit (which was little more than throwing a box of live thermal detonators as hard as he could) didn’t advance, just kept shooting clear over the Rebels’ heads. As Finn flopped down into the co-pilot’s seat, he wondered why. It could just be standard FO incompetence, but it seemed a little too easy. Then his bruised ribs reminded him that they were still a going concern, and he focused on staying conscious long enough to escape this shitshow. 

Mercifully, the _Falcon_ finally rose and zipped into the upper atmosphere, Poe whooping wildly as Rose glared out the ventral cannon’s viewport. As soon as they burst into the space above Nal Hutta, a squadron of TIE Interceptors fell on them like vultures on a particularly juicy carcass. Over the blare of laser fire, Rose shouted “Now would be a great time to live up to your reputation, flyboy!” 

“Just keep those guns hot and my reputation will speak for itself!” he called back, exhilarated. 

Finn just shook his head. Only Poe Dameron would worry about banter with a dozen starfighters on his tail. That confidence, the devil-may-care attitude was part of his legend. But the past year taught Finn that the legend was only half the man, that behind his cocky demeanor was a person deeply concerned about the fate of the Resistance, loyal to a fault and willing to make immense personal sacrifice for his friends. Poe had been tortured, mocked, demoted, and vilified throughout the course of his career, but Finn knew he’d do it all again if it meant bringing the First Order down. 

That was the real Poe, and Finn kept that familiarity, that knowledge of the true Resistance hero in the back of his mind, a little secret just for him. It kept him going, even after a brush with his abusive past, when the consequences of his defection literally kicked him in the gut. 

Because he loved the real Poe Dameron. And even if he didn’t love Finn back, it was enough to be near him. If Finn could spend the rest of his likely short life just seeing how Poe moved through the word, a maelstrom, that supernova that lit up the stars, it would be enough. 

Then Poe twisted the yoke at an unnatural angle, and Finn was flattened against the back of his chair. 

The _Falcon_ spiraled madly, and somewhere in the whirling periphery, Rose screamed every Basic swear for which her lungs held capacity. But whatever Poe was doing, it seemed to be working. The Interceptors flew past the viewports in confused arcs, several colliding with each other as they fought in vain to match Poe’s erratic moves. After several more moments that made Finn wonder if he ought to have his stomach permanently removed, Poe stopped his frantic maneuvers and leveled out the _Falcon_ as much as one can level out a ship when terms like “up” and “down” held no meaning. 

Though the world still shook as equilibrium made its unsteady return, Finn read the radar, and to his delight, saw there were many fewer glowing red dots than there had been previously. Though one very large red dot was creeping up behind them, this was good. The familiar hum of the hyperdrive warming up flooded his endocrine system with relief. They were going to make it. 

He’d escaped his past one more time. 

And as the starlines stretched around them, Finn looked over at Poe, silhouetted in the blue-black light, and wondered when he’d finally start living for the future. 

#

“You let them escape, General?”

“Intentionally, Supreme Leader.” 

“That defeats the purpose of having a whole land invasion, don’t you think?”

“Worry not, my Lord, we have them tied--”

“--tied on the end of a string? How unoriginal. Still, it’s very convenient that we can just track them through lightspeed now. Though it takes all the fun out of chase sequences.” 

“I disagree, my Lord. The end of the chase is only the beginning of the fun.” 

“Whatever. Have you calculated their destination?”

“Mon Cala.”

“Naturally. They can’t hide under the guise of neutrality now.”

“Orders, sir?” 

“Bring the  _ Irascible  _ to that system, but stay out of detection range. The fleet will join you shortly. It is time I put an end to this pathetic ‘Resistance.’” 


	4. Chapter 4

Poe Dameron took pride in his abilities as a pilot, as a leader, and in general, as a person who could be depended upon when lasers started flying through the air. His parents had been Resistance fighters, and he’d learned much from them: how to keep a cool head in a dogfight, how to find innovative solutions to both tactical and strategic problems with limited resources, how to speak with his chest about his beliefs, never apologizing for taking up space. 

He’d earned a reputation for being the best pilot since Anakin Skywalker, and had dragged the crippled Resistance across star systems, into and out of near-catastrophes, and still managed to be a thorn in the First Order’s side even when they had all the money and machinery of the Core worlds while he had to beg for supplies on Nal Hutta. Against impossible odds, Poe kept the spark of the Rebellion alive. None could question his bravery, his cunning, his tenacity and even callousness in the face of opposition. 

So why, when he looked at Finn, did his stomach feel like it was doing triple G somersaults? 

The job on Nal Hutta went bad, but not necessarily as bad as any other cluster he’d been in the past year. But this time his heart beat faster, his blood went colder, and he’d fought like a vengeful Nohgri against a horde of stormtroopers without regard for his own life. 

It had to be because of Finn.

He’d never put too much stock in the Force, though it was hard to deny that Rey and Leia could move vehicles with a thought. But beyond space magic, in the face of the terrible violence that permeated his existence, it was hard to believe in a ubiquitous energy that connected all things. 

But when he looked over at his wounded friend, bacta pack plastered to his chest, Poe felt a tug from somewhere inside that he couldn’t explain. It was like gravity, magnetism, or just that inexplicable chain of destiny that kept placing him in the center of galaxy-changing events. Whatever the cause, the result was the same. He and Finn shared a bond, and Poe ached for it to be more than the weary camaraderie of soldiers in wartime. 

As they came out of hyperspace, Poe shook those thoughts from his mind. Now was not the time for daydreams. The General would need to hear about their deal with Black Sun, and the few weapons they recovered from Nal Hutta would go a long way to supplying guerilla forces across the Core. Even as they were only a day removed from their last fight, Poe had to be ready to jump headlong into another one. 

That was his job, after all. Good leaders lead from the front, and he was a damned good leader. 

The aquamarine speck of Mon Cala grew rapidly as they made their approach. For a world that was all ocean, Poe thought there was a certain beauty to it, the way its green kelp forests rippled gently against the planet’s spin. He’d like to see it the way the Mon Calamari and Quarren did, swimming among its immeasurable depths. But for now, he just turned on his coded landing signal and broadcasted their approach. 

Officially, the monarchy of Mon Cala took no position in the war against the First Order, having declared itself independent of the New Republic after the Hosnian system was decimated. Unofficially, Queen Tinu Mok was the sole reason the Resistance survived for so long. After being rejected and betrayed by several unsympathetic systems, the Mon Cala welcomed General Organa with open fins, allowing the Resistance to establish its headquarters in an empty shipyard underneath Dac City. From there, Leia and Poe coordinated efforts of Resistance cells and anti-FO factions, sending them information from sympathisers and spies, occasionally shipping out weapons, trading favors for supplies with anyone with a grudge against Kylo Ren. 

Best of all, the Mon Calamari provided them with several hangars left over from the Imperial occupation. From there the rebels could rebuild their fleet. As Poe glided through atmosphere and into his designated landing zone, he scanned for each vessel, as if he didn’t already know the precise location of every ship, both on and off-world. Clustered in the corner were their dozen starfighters, a handful of X-wings, some Z-95s BB8 and R2 did a wonderful job of repairing, and a Clone-Wars Era ARC 170 that even Poe didn’t dare take for a spin. Two of their three frigates were in a separate hangar, while the other was acting as bodyguard-for-hire for some princeling’s elopement off near Felucia, God knows why the kid thought he’d need a Nebulon B to shack up with his partner. And, as a personal gift to the General, the Queen gifted a modified Star Cruiser, locked up in its own extremely long docking bay. 

Poe felt a twinge of sadness at the thought of the massive oblong vessel. He doubted they’d ever have enough crew to staff a ship of that size, despite how their numbers had swollen. 

And the last time he’d been on a fully-crewed Mon Cal? He’d let his pride and ambition get the better of him. If he hadn’t asked Rose and Finn to try to save them that day, if he had just trusted Leia’s judgement, maybe this mess would have ended long ago. 

Maybe Amilyn Holdo would still be alive. 

But there were too many “ifs” that kept Poe up at night, and if he dwelt too long on his mistakes they’d swallow him. Best to push those doubts down, keep his eyes on the horizon. If he learned anything from his time as a pilot, it was that sometimes, all you can do is go forward. 

A small reception group waited in the hangar bay as the three shakily disembarked. Colonel Aftab Ackbar, son of the dear departed admiral, hurried to help support Finn, who still needed a night in a bacta tank to fully recover. Ackbar said as much, and made to help shuffle the ex-stormtrooper off to the medical bay. Poe somewhat regretfully shrugged off the arm around his shoulder, but his attention soon shifted to the other entities. One, a gleaming golden protocol droid immediately launched into a worried rant, but the other, a white and orange ball of joy, squealed with delight to see its friend. Poe ran to his droid, gave it an affectionate belly rub, and said, “I’m really sorry buddy, I wanted to bring you!” 

The orb squawked in a hurt tone, but continued to nuzzle its head against Poe’s leg. 

“I know, I know. But you’re kind of conspicuous, and we had to keep a low profile.” He glanced up at C3PO toddling his way. “Plus, someone’s gotta keep the old man company.” 

“Commander Dameron, I’m truly grateful for your safe return,” came the impeccably polite voice of the protocol droid. “I’ve been worried sick ever since we received your report. First Order ships over Nal Hutta. How brazen!” 

At that, Rose scoffed. “Worse than brazen. It was reckless. The First Order’s tough, but not so tough that they want to have Hutt mercenaries harassing their supply ships for the next six months.” After handing Finn off to the colonel, she began unloading the Black Sun supplies onto a hovering pallet. “Either they think they’re powerful enough that they can just violate Hutt airspace without consequence, or they thought making a risky move was worth the trouble it’d cause later.” She shot Poe a withering look. “Either way, it’s not good for any of us.” 

Irritation burst like a flare in the base of Poe’s neck. “Yeah, well we got our supplies, made our alliance, and learned some important information about the enemy.” He stood from his crouched position next to BB8 and glared back at her. “I’d say that’s pretty good.” 

Rose pressed her lips into a thin grimace. “Pretty good isn’t enough.” Before Poe could retort, she hauled the supplies through the hangar doors and out of sight. 

He stood motionless for a moment, seething at Rose’s blatant insubordination, then realized several sets of visual receptors were on him. With an effort, he relaxed his clenched jaw and fists, flashed a smile, and gestured toward the door she left through. “Always appreciate a teammate who strives for perfection.” Poe walked ahead, trying to keep his stride as casual as possible. 

In the background, he couldn’t not hear 3PO attempt to whisper to BB8, “It seems like that mission may have caused some tension.” He made a mental note to have someone install a software update that would let the old robot read a room. 

#

The morning after their return, Rose’s commlink beeped with a message from the General. She and Rey had returned last night after some Jedi team-building exercise, and wanted to chat with leadership about their next moves against the First Order. Rose fought against the rising wave of cynicism, wondered if she could catch a few more minutes of sleep before this pointless chat. For all their supposed wisdom, the two remaining Jedi hadn’t been a great deal of help over the past year. There was little doubt in her mind that this new convocation would be little more than Leia letting Poe make more bad calls while reminding herself that the Jedi’s path of restraint and tolerance would win the day. 

Regardless, she’d already worked herself into a grumpy buzz, and she could hardly return to bed imagining all the arguments she ought to win. Fumbling around in the dark of her bunk, she managed to find an old Imperial admiral’s uniform. Not as comfortable as her jumpsuit, but it was as close as she was going to get to formal clothes. When she left, Rose tried to let the door close quietly behind her. The deep, rumbling breaths of her bunkmate still came in an unbroken stream, and she’d like to keep it that way. Even if Chewbacca was technically senior staff, there was no way she was going to wake up a Wookie with PTSD for a stupid meeting. 

It wasn’t ten meters down the transparisteel-walled hall before Rose met her first obstacle of the day, namely, a tall woman in loose white robes nearly bowling her over as she exited her own room. The collision was akin to jauntily stepping directly into a wall, the woman was so muscular, it was less a collision and more a redirection of Rose toward the floor as she bounced off the oblivious Rey. Before she hit the ground, however, Rose suddenly stopped, floating inches above the tiled coral floor. 

“Oh my goodness, I’m terribly sorry!” she said, eyes wide with shock and horror at the faux paux. With a flick of her wrist, Rose was lifted back to her feet, no worse for wear, but still stunned from the jarring fall and its subsequent reversal. 

“Thanks,” Rose muttered. “Aren’t Jedi supposed to have mind powers that let them know before they flatten someone?” 

Rey gave her an apologetic smile. “We’re supposed to. I just couldn’t sleep last night is all.” 

Rose believed it. Dark circles hung under Rey’s eyes, which were red with protestation, either at being awakened so early, or never being allowed to sleep in the first place. Despite her misgivings about the Jedi, a sympathetic note chimed in her chest. A long time ago, Paige sometimes wore that same exhausted facade after days of flying without rest. 

“Why don’t we stop by the caf bar before the meeting?” Rose suggested. “I think we both could use a pick-me-up.” 

Something like gratitude flitted across Rey’s face. “I won’t say no to that.” 

#

“Where are they?” grumbled Poe. “The meeting was supposed to start ten minutes ago.” 

“What’s the hurry?” asked Leia, who was absentmindedly stirring a cup of tea, staring out the window at the lively ocean floor, illuminated by city lights and hunting nocturnal creatures. “They’ll be here eventually.” 

“It’s just unprofessional,” he shot back. “We’re the leaders of the most important antifascist organization in the galaxy. The least we can do is show up on time.”

He could feel Leia’s eyeroll in his bones. “Yes, God forbid anyone in our organization be unprofessional.” She fixed him with a diplomat’s practiced grin, at once teasing and critical. “First they show up late to meetings, next they’ll be organizing mutinies.” 

Poe blinked. “Point taken,” he said, and returned to his seat next to Finn, who hadn’t spoken much since his stint in the infirmary. Physically, the physicians cleared him for duty (the broken bones were a cinch to fix in a bacta bath), but Poe could tell he was troubled. There was a hollowness behind his stare, he looked not out at the teeming life of the deep, but at the void itself, the blackness beyond where artificial light dared travel. That was not great. 

“Finn,” came Leia’s soothing voice, “would you care to share what’s on your mind?” 

It took a second, but at recognizing the General’s call, Finn jumped in his chair. “Uh, no, ma’am, nothing’s on my mind. Blanker than Poe’s holonet history.” 

For an excruciating second, Poe wondered how Finn knew about his recent exploration of Mon Calamari adult cinema, before Leia’s barking laugh prompted him to laugh along at what was supposed to be a joke. 

“You can’t fool me that easily, soldier. I understand your mission took an unexpected turn. It couldn’t hurt to talk about it.” The joking tone warmed her words, but they carried an edge of seriousness, urgency. Since expanding her Force powers, Leia had become even more perceptive, albeit less cutting with her criticism. Poe wondered if those new abilities were a hindrance rather than a help. In her position, empathy was often a double-bladed sword. 

After a few shuddering breaths, Finn looked over at Poe. He tried to give an encouraging nod, but the raw honesty of Finn’s furrowed brow made him feel like his stomach would fall out of his abdomen. “Phasma was there.”

Leia nodded. “It must have been hard to see her again, after thinking you’d beaten her for the last time.” 

An age passed before Finn responded. “It’s not that. At least I don’t think.” While he thought, he sat frozen, like a motionless droid or a computer, calculating and running back the numbers on all the variables impacting their very bad trip to Nal Hutta. “It was…” He turned to look at Leia. “You’ve been a prisoner before, right General?”

Tight lines surfaced, etching Leia’s face in carbonite. “Several times, during the war. Once under Darth Vader, another under Jabba the Hut. It’s a bad feeling.” 

“When you’re a prisoner, or really, whenever someone has power over you…” Finn spoke slowly, processing each word with the precision of a surgeon. “After a certain amount of time, you lose hope. You just accept your reality, your captor gets in your head. And you know they’re wrong. But sometimes, they get to you.” 

Leia nodded, deadly serious.

“I knew Phasma longer than I knew anyone else in my life. She knew everything about me. My height, my blood type, the soldiers I got along with, my deepest fears.” Needles shot through Poe when he realized Finn was shaking. “And she used that knowledge to hurt me. To make it seem like she and the First Order were all I’d ever have.” He swallowed audibly. “When I got out, when I met you all--” His eyes flicked to Poe for a moment, then back to Leia, “--it was a new beginning. I thought I was free from her, free to start a new life.”

Gravel filled up Finn’s throat, and Poe thought his own heart would burst. 

“But seeing her again… I’m afraid I won’t ever really be free of the First Order.” There was a second of silence. Then tears poured from Finn’s face, and before Poe realized it, he was holding him, squeezing his friend, feeling wet heat on his neck. 

He just held him for a while, shut out every other sensation besides the sound of Finn’s muffled sobs. It was sort of funny, Poe thought to himself, how often he’d fantasized about keeping this person in his arms, imagined what it might be like to feel Finn’s warm face against his. But this was far different than he’d ever envisioned it, both less sexy and terribly more intimate. 

And that was okay. Time blurred around them, and for a while, he just hugged his friend close. Even when Rey and Rose arrived, sipping iced cafs, he hardly noticed. For now, he would just be what Finn needed him to be. A shoulder to cry on, an unshakable rock that he could trust. 

Poe was a leader, after all. And good leaders take care of their people. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst on angst on angst  
> Follow me on twitter @aaronsxl

In the short time it took Rose and Rey to find the caf bar, the mechanic found she had more in common with the space wizard than she previously imagined. Embarrassingly, they had only really spoken to each other in passing, especially in the months when the whole Resistance ended up crammed in the Falcon’s cargo bay, yet feeling every inch of spare room like a dagger in the back. Both had been struggling, with little success, to keep hold of what little progress they’d made against the First Order, Rey with her Jedi skills, Rose with her recruitment drive.

“I don’t know,” Rose said, taking a tentative sip of her black iced caf, “It’s just really disheartening, you know? I keep telling the same story, about how I gave all I had to the Resistance, fighting the worst bad guys in the galaxy, and it’s like, yeah? So what?” Despite its temperature, Rose forced herself to take deep gulp, wincing at the cold frosting her tongue. “Everyone knows someone who lost someone. The galaxy has been in a constant series of terrible wars over the past fifty or so years. No one’s moved by another orphan’s sad story.” 

At the mention of the word “orphan,” Rey’s jaw visibly tightened, and Rose wanted to kick herself. “Sorry, not that being an orphan’s a bad thing. I’m an orphan too, is what I mean, just like a lot of other people, because my parents died. Like yours!” 

Rey nodded wordlessly, and took a small sip of her own beverage, which she’d requested they make as sugary as possible. 

“Sorry,” Rose said for the second time. “I didn’t mean to be rude. Talking to Resistance heroes isn’t my specialty.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” the Jedi responded coolly. “Whenever Finn’s in one of his moods, you’re the first person he comes to. Even halfway across the galaxy, I can tell when Poe’s blown him off.” 

That got a chuckle out of Rose, and the embarrassed flush rising in her cheeks temporarily abated. “They’re both the most oblivious dinguses I’ve ever met. We’d be a hundred times more productive if they just sucked it up and made out for an hour.” 

“No disagreement here,” and Rey bumped the plastic of her cup against Rose’s. 

Still, she seemed pensive, thoughtful in the way that sad people often were, just behind the eyes. Rose tried to shift the subject. “So, what is it with you and Finn anyway? I know you both escaped Jakku together after he defected, but I haven’t heard much else.” With a playfulness she hadn’t felt in a long time, she waggled her eyebrows. “I bet there were a lot of deep, romantic conversations aboard the  _ Falcon _ before you blew up Death Star 3.0.” 

Rey snorted, the hint of a smile playing at her cheek. “Not really, Han Solo showed up before any of that could take place.” The corners of her eyes narrowed when she said his name. Then it was gone, and she was saying, “Not that I’m  _ not  _ interested in Finn. Have you seen his arms? I don’t know what planet they get those Stormtroopers from but I wouldn’t mind some R&R there.” She elbowed Rose, who giggled despite herself. “But he and Poe have to work their situation out first. Then we’ll see what the future holds.” 

Rose nodded. “I’m impressed you can keep your feelings for him separate from your duty to the Resistance.” 

Rey shrugged. “I don’t, really. Finn was the first person to come back for me after I’d been alone for so long. He’s my first real friend.” 

A quiet moment passed. Then Rose added, “He’s a great guy. I’ve spent a lot of time with him over the past few months. Whatever brainwashing the First Order tried on him, it didn’t stick. He’s just…” She considered what she was trying to say, why she was even talking about Finn with this woman. Was Rey not her competitor for his affection? “...loyal to a fault. Sometimes he’d talk about the people he left behind when he defected. He’d tell me about their dreams, their fears, how sometimes they also wished they could be free.” An inkwell spilled over in her chest, and a stain of sorrow inched its way across her heart. “But I hate to hear him say that. It reminds me that he’s not just some anomaly. That they’re not just monsters in white armor.”

When she looked back at Rey, it felt like she was being scanned, or pierced. Rey’s friendly but focused expression cut through her, exposed her so much that Rose wanted to grab a towel and cover up. Was this another trick of the Force? Or was Rey just that kind of person? That rare individual who, when they gave you their attention, you knew in your gut that you’d bleed for them.

“I wonder,” Rey half-whispered, “if there’s a way to help them. If they’re being mind-controlled, if it could be broken somehow?” 

Though Rey didn’t seem to notice, Rose immediately felt the temperature of the hallway lower several degrees, and the remaining caf in her cup froze solid. Jedi are scary as hell, she thought. 

“I don’t want to help them,” Rose admitted. “Even if they are being mind-controlled.”

In her surprise, Rey made a sound like an indignant kitten, and Rose was momentarily jerked away from her anger by its sheer cuteness. “Why not?”

But then that old pain was back, and before she could temper her feelings, it all just sort of tumbled out. “Because I don’t want to humanize the people who killed my sister! I don’t want to give them an inch. They’d glass this planet if they had a fourth Death Star, and God knows they’re trying because that’s all anyone wants to do anymore.” She hadn’t put these thoughts together before, they’d only been surges of emotion, snippets of phrases floating in the soup of her subconscious, but once Rey prodded the cracks, the whole dam burst open. “Why should we extend a shred of decency to them after they take and take, after they slaughter and rob and cheat and burn everything they touch? I hate them. I hate them so much that hating them has become a part of my identity, and I wanted so badly for this thing, this Resistance, whatever that means, to be about saving what we love.” She felt like she’d been running for kilometers. “When I look at Finn, I see something worth saving. But I can only look at him for so long before I have to turn back to the real world, and fight every day against the people I hate, because if I don’t they’ll kill me without a thought.” 

It felt good to get that out. Great even. Rose had completely stopped walking and rested her free hand on her knee, gasping for breath. A few beads of sweat trickled down her forehead, and when she wiped them away, she realized how flushed she’d become. To her side, Rey stood watching, her face contorted in an effort to maintain a Jedi’s emotionless facade. 

“Sorry about that,” Rose said, embarrassed. “Haven’t been able to book a therapy appointment in a while.” 

“There’s no need for apology,” Rey said so quietly and with such gentleness that it made Rose tear up. “I don’t understand what it’s like to lose a family member you’ve known your whole life. If you don’t share those feelings, then people like me will never understand why what we’re doing is so important.” 

Rose doubted that. A lifetime of war hardened her against the concepts of solidarity or charity. But still, Rey made her feel like that cynicism wasn’t for nothing. Like the Jedi was packaging it up in a box and putting it in a closet in the back of her mind, to be unpacked later for greater purpose. 

“You make a good point about the stormtroopers,” Rey continued. “I don’t know how many we’ve shot or blown up. Probably the same number that they’ve taken from us.” She wasn’t looking at Rose now, instead focused her gaze in the middle distance. “We don’t have a lot of time to spare worrying for their souls when they point their guns at us. I’ll have to keep that in mind.” 

And with that, the two women entered the circular conference room, to find Finn and Poe in a close embrace, one or both of them sobbing, it was hard to tell, with General Organa looking on. 

Rey blanched. “I’m sorry, should we go?”

Leia looked up at the women, shook her head, and gestured toward some empty seats. “Not at all. We’re just having a frank discussion.” 

Rose, still flushed from her rant, couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “How frank, exactly?”

Sensing her meaning, the General gave a small frown, and mouthed, “I’ll tell you later.” Rose shrugged and took the spot at Finn’s left side, with Rey joining soon after. It hadn’t taken long for the men to break apart and compose themselves, once they realized their comrades had arrived. Neither of them made eye contact with either Rose or Rey, and simply stared at the walls, as if searching the forest of kelp outside would magically solve their terrible communication skills. A flicker of irritation fired behind Rose’s eyes. Somehow, even in a future space galaxy, men would rather hide their feelings for each other than suck it up and make out. 

“Now that we’re all present and caffeinated,” the General said in her most diplomatically snarky tone, “we can discuss the news from Ord Mantell and our next moves.” 

That snapped everyone out of their respective emotional funks. Poe was first to ask, “Ord Mantell? The Black Sun homeworld?”

Leia nodded. “Before you even left Nal Hutta, it came under attack by First Order. I regret to inform you that many of our informants perished in the assault, along with most of the Black Sun Pirates’ leadership.”

The information fried the group like an EMP grenade. At first, they were stunned, shocked into silence by the news. Then, all at once, they tried to piece together its significance.

“So that week of negotiations on Nal Hutta was for nothing?” Rose stated, more than asked. She felt hollow, even the heat of frustration and disappointment burned weak and dry, she was so used to the feeling. 

“We’re not getting support from the Pirates?” moaned Poe, looking as if he would follow Finn’s example and burst into tears. “They promised a dozen frigates and fifty starfighters. It’s all gone?”

“What happened to the city?’ Finn wondered aloud, to no one in particular. “Did they leave anyone alive?”

Rey cut through the others with her own demand for information.“Where’s Ren now?” 

The four of them looked expectantly at Leia, who could only respond to their hopeless expressions with a sad smile. “I’m sorry. I know we can’t afford to lose, but this time they just had the jump on us.” She turned her attention to Rey, who sat still but radiated a cold fury that made the survival-oriented parts of Rose’s brain urge her to scoot away. “I don’t know about… Ren. As far as our scouts can tell, he razed the capital city, then jumped his fleet into hyperspace. We have to assume they’re on the move, possibly to hit another one of our allies. Perhaps the nutrifarms on Felucia. If that’s the case, we’d better double our stocks of dried fish. It’s going to be a long war.” 

A collective sigh deadened the air. This was not the news they’d been looking for. For all the caf she’d just consumed, Rose wanted nothing more to crawl back into bed and sleep her feelings away. Pointless. All of this had been pointless. And because Poe used most of the Black Sun weaponry on Nal Hutta, they barely had a thermal detonator to show for their week’s worth of work. 

“Well,” said Poe slowly, “I guess that means we have to plan for the worst. How many soldiers can we spare to reinforce the farms?” 

His conversation with Leia faded into the background of Rose’s thoughts. Typical. No matter how many fuck-ups he made, he just wanted to pick up and try again. 

Paige had been the same way. Perhaps she made fewer mistakes. But she never gave up. She would find a way to scrounge food when they were starving. Or hotwire a speeder to get away from gangs of slavers. Or get herself and Rose off-planet before the First Order leveled their home, used their combined determination to get into the Resistance and make revenge their number one priority. 

And that determination, that drive to succeed, it served her so well that she died a meaningless death in the atmosphere above D’Qar. 

“Rose?” 

She realized Poe was talking to her. “Rose, can you reconfigure those greenhouse generators to protect against orbital strikes?” 

“Can I… reconfigure the...generators?” She wasn’t quite sure what he was talking about, she’d been so caught up in hating him. “On Felucia?”

“Yeah, in case the First Order blows up one of our main food supplies, remember what General Organa just said?”

A burning pinprick jabbed at the base of Rose’s neck. Maybe it was his tone, or maybe she’d been so angry all morning that she just needed and outlet, or, perhaps, because Poe Dameron was directly responsible for her sister’s death, Rose lost it. 

“You want me to turn shields that are supposed to repel organic predators into defenses capable of holding back Imperial Star Destroyers?” She met Poe’s eyes, and he blinked in surprise.

“I mean, when you put it that way--”

“And you want me to be on Felucia when said Star Destroyers arrive, so that was I can personally suffer the consequences of having inadequate protection by being vaporized?” 

Poe frowned, and there it was, that arrogance, that cocky self-assuredness that got him through every dangerous mission while he left rubble and dead comrades in his wake. “You’re the highest-ranked engineer we’ve got, it makes sense you should lead the defense.”

“It only makes sense if you’re not looking down the barrels of a hundred battleships.” 

“Rose, I don’t know what’s up with you, but I’m your commanding officer, and I’m ordering you to--”

Rose was on her feet by the time Poe reached the word “officer.” In response, he stood too, and they met in the middle of the conference room, two intractable, pissed-off forces on a direct collision course. “You’re ordering me to get killed for a bad plan. Like you’ve done ever since they let you run anything larger than a squadron.”

She could practically hear him grind his teeth. “I’m keeping most of us alive. I’m sorry about every soldier I lost, but I won’t apologize for making sure this Resistance wasn’t snuffed out a hundred times before now.”

“And look where that’s gotten us, at the bottom of the ocean pretending our bluetooth-potato farms are the key to saving the galaxy.” Despite their height difference, Rose tried to get in his face as much as possible, to make him feel the weight of her resentment. “I’m sure my dead friends would be  _ so  _ proud.” 

At this point, Finn gingerly stepped between them, and said “Hey, why don’t we all calm down?”

Rose snapped back, “Why? So he can come up with a new way to get my recruits blown up while we’re all meditating? Ask our Jedi how much peace of mind is worth on the battlefield?”

Finn’s eye twitched involuntarily. “Rose, Poe’s just doing the best he can, like all the rest of us.”

“And I’m doing a damn good job too,” Poe shouted back. “I’m the best pilot in the Resistance, my missions have saved thousands.”

Rey was now trying to separate her friends too, stepping behind Poe and tugging him back. “Poe, Rose is just concerned that we haven’t made much progress as of late.”

“We’ve made plenty of progress!”

“We’ve only progressed closer to our graves.”

“Oh don’t you  _ dare  _ try to blame Crait on me, if you hadn’t trusted some rando--”

“Why not? Putting our trust in you got the same number of Rebels killed, it just took you a little longer.”

“Rose--”

“Finn let go--”

“Rey I can handle--”

“Poe just listen--”

“Oh my god will you all just shut the fuck up for a second?”

Everyone stopped to stare at the old diplomat, pure exasperation oozing out of her every pore. “Holy shit you kids are annoying.”

“But General--”

Leia cut off the protest with a glare that could slice durasteel. “Only a select few people can use that title with me, General is fine. And right now we’ve got bigger problems than this four-way dick swinging contest. Like that.” She pointed a wrinkled finger at the ocean outside.

The four of them swiveled their heads in unison. It took a moment for Rose to realize what she was looking at. Then she understood that the strange structure floating slowly to the seabed was half of a Nebulon B frigate. All around them, the water boiled with a rainbow of laser fire. And if she strained her ears, she could just barely make out a faint roar overhead. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo Ren brings the fleet to Mon Cala. Shit goes poorly part-1  
> Follow me on Twitter @aaronsxl

As soon as they understood what was happening, Finn and Poe sped off the the underground hangars to try and rally whatever pilots were available. Rey, meanwhile, escorted Rose and Master Organa to the surface. If they could get to a vantage point, they might be able to organize a defense, or at least, make a hasty retreat. Though the thought of retreat sent a shiver down Rey’s back. To where? If they lost Mon Cala, there wouldn’t be another planet in the galaxy that could shelter them. 

“How could they have tracked us here?” Rose half-shouted into the elevator. “We jumped to hyperspace before--” She stopped herself. “But I thought hyperspace tracking wouldn’t work on smaller ships?”

“You ran into Captain Phasma before you took off, right?” Master Organa had her eyes closed, but Rey could feel her heart racing underneath the serene front. “Perhaps she attached a tracking beacon.” 

A ripple in the Force indicated Rose’s frustration. “Maybe. But what about the Mon Cala Navy? The First Order would be stupid to try and launch an attack here, they’ll be torn to shreds.”

“Unless they brought their entire fleet.” Her master’s calm was beginning to irritate Rey. But she took a deep breath, tried to find her emotional center, and let the Force flow through her. 

Then the elevator door slid open, the morning light came to rest on her face, and any sense of balance was lost. 

Sound bounced from the spires of buildings. Mostly echoes of starfighters chasing each other through narrow spaces in the architecture. Punctuated by the occasional bass note of a turbolaser zipping past its target and thudding against a skyscraper’s emergency shielding. The noise above the city was an orchestra, or a wasp hive, vibrating with activity. 

The Mon Cala Navy was visible from the ground, trading blows with a First Order fleet three times its size. While the husks of several broken Star Destroyers were already lazily drifting down toward the planet, every few seconds an orange blossom would sprout from a MonCal cruiser’s nose, sending a chain of similar blooms down its length before the oblong vessel split down the middle. For every TIE fighter Rey saw fall from the heavens, another four closed ranks and chased down the defender who felled their wingmate. And all the while, the ocean of Mon Cala thrashed as if its very core had breached the mantle and was boiling the planet from the inside. 

“Rey, come on!” Rose grabbed her wrist and tugged Rey out of her stupor. They jogged behind the General, who had begun a mad dash toward the king’s palace. Already dozens of other lifeforms were pouring inside the golden dome’s relative safety, and the king’s guards appeared to be turning many away. Luckily, even a space invasion wasn’t enough to diminish from Leia’s commanding presence, and the three of them were quickly ushered inside, escorted to the top level of the residence where the King and his commanders were planning a desperate defense. 

While Leia engaged in a heated but plot-irrelevant discussion of planetary defenses, Rey just stared out the window at the city’s destruction. It was like Jakku, like Crait, like Maz’s castle, but amplified to a hellish degree. Battalions of stormtroopers crashed like waves against Mon Cal police, surging forward only to be briefly halted by the occasional strafing run from a brave pilot. Private ships tore out of underwater hangars, only to be blasted out of the sky by the ever-thickening web of Interceptors circling overhead. 

But before Rey could tear herself from the macabre spectacle, she felt a drop in the Force, and insistent dripping that morphed into a trickle, and before she could cut off the flow, she found herself looking not out the window, but into the command bridge of a Star Destroyer. 

“What do you want?” She spat the words out, hoping that even from this distance Ben could hear the venom in her voice. 

Her chest seized as his form turned to face her. She didn’t want to see him now, right as he planned to butcher everyone she loved. But the Force had brought them together. She had to hope it was for a reason. And when a cruel smile snaked its way across his lips, she hoped that reason was to bring him justice. 

“I wanted to see you,” he said. “I wanted to give you a chance to surrender, so that I don’t have to kill everyone on the cesspool of a planet.” 

“You don’t actually have to kill anyone. No one’s forcing you to be a genocidal maniac.” 

Ben scoffed. “No one can force me to do anything. But your friends have made decimating this planet the most attractive option. Without anyone to resist me, the Galaxy can finally achieve peace.” He waited, gauging her reaction, seemingly amused by her growing rage. “You don’t have to help them, you know. Have you considered what life might be like when you don’t have to struggle for every inch?”

“I don’t need a lecture about how hard life is from the grandson of a Queen and the son of a Princess.” The pounding in her head began to come in faster pulses, and Rey couldn’t tell if it was because of the battle outside or her own stormy feelings. “You were given everything. A lineage of powerful Jedi. Money beyond what most in the Galaxy could ever conceive. A family who loved, who still loves you.” A shudder in the Force sent goosebumps down her arms. “Don’t you dare talk about struggle when you were handed the world, and the only thing you want to do is pluck more stars from the sky.” 

If he was listening at all to her insults, Ben showed no indication. He instead stepped closer, until the only thing separating them was the miles between their respective windows. “You’re the only person in the galaxy who can stop me now, Rey. But if you do, you’ll be giving up the chance to stop grinding. I’ve seen your mind, I know your own feelings better than you.” Rey felt as if he could feel his warm breath against her ear, and almost wished it to be true. “I know you’re tired, sick of war, of death and suffering. But most of all, you’re sick of having to  _ try. _ It’s so hard to get up every day and scrape an existence in this hostile universe, and the experience is eating you alive. Don’t you wish you could simply live?”

“Stop,” she said, but another ripple in the Force raced through her, and she knew Ben was right. For years she’d spent her hours scouring the wrecks of the old wars, picking apart the carcasses of death machines and trying to sell their innards as something of value. Every so often she’d find traces of sand in her pockets, in her hair, under her fingernails, even though she’d left Jakku a year ago. The reality of survival on that indifferent planet stayed with her even now. 

She was tired. Having worked so hard for so little had wounded her soul, and in the darkest recesses of her mind, she knew that fear still lurked, the fear of being abandoned by those she loved to a life pointless toil. 

The past year had been the first Rey had truly been alive. But it came at the price of never not working. 

“Rey,” came Ben’s soothing whisper, “don’t you deserve to rest?” 

Rey recognized the poison hidden in his careful words. He presented a false choice. Either continue fighting the First Order and always be on guard, continue breaking off pieces of herself to fuel the fire of resistance, or surrender, and allow the struggle to end, perhaps in captivity or exile, but allow it to end nonetheless, and she’d be able to spend one night without wondering what seemingly pointless mission would sap the life away from her bones. 

Life was never that simple. Surrendering to Ben would almost certainly mean subjecting herself to servitude at best, while her friends were all executed in the streets of Dac City. Meanwhile, even if she continued to fight, there was always the stolen moment joking with Finn, or debating strategy with Poe, or wrapping her arm around the frail body of her master. Those moments, while rare, meant the universe to her. If she gave up and let Ben win, those little sparks of hope would be extinguished forever. 

She did deserve to rest. But not at the expense of a trillion others’ damnation. 

“I have a better idea,” she said into the window. “How about you come down from your spaceship and see if you really deserve all the titles and airs you think make you powerful?”

The space between them seemed to vibrate for a moment. Then--

“Very well.” 

And Rey was again standing in front of a window, looking not at Ben Solo’s pouty lips, but at the carnage resulting from a single order they issued. 

“Are you all right?”

Rose was shaking her arm, and Rey slowly turned her head to meet her eyes. She didn’t need her Force sensitivity to sense Rose’s genuine concern for her, and the thought made her stomach skip for a brief second. 

“Yes, I’m fine. Just… thinking. Have the commanders devised a plan?”

Rose glanced over at the table, then back to Rey, disappointment overshadowing her previous anxiety. “All we can do is hold our ground. The palace has a pretty robust laser grid, so the royal guard and whatever Resistance fighters we can spare are holding. But we’re going to lose air superiority soon and oh my god what the fuck--”

At that, the whole room swiveled to look out the window, and uttered similar expressions of concern. 

#

You don’t really appreciate the size of a Star Destroyer when you’re in space. Everything in space is so incomprehensibly massive, from the planets themselves, to the stars that are orders of magnitude greater, to the impossibly dense black hole anchoring every galaxy into orbit around itself, shit is just so big.

But on the ground, when you can see how big a mile is when it’s stretched into a shale gray war machine, you really get a sense of scale. You can tell how much of a city is covered in black shadow as the thing drifts through the atmosphere. You can see how, by comparison, the hundreds of little frigates and starfighters are more like flies buzzing around the triangular head of a cyber crocodile. 

But most significant of all, is the feeling you get when you see the nose of that fucker pointed straight for the building you’re standing in. The feeling of total helplessness. You imagine this is what an ant must feel like before its whole being is erased by a lightning bolt. It’s almost calming, except for the wails and curses of the people around you. There’s a certain peace in accepting the inevitable. 

Rest. 

Now you might finally get to rest.

You might think that. 

Rey certainly did. 

But she also thought one more thing, which is that if Kylo Ren was going to try and kill her, he’d better do it personally, because she’d be damned if she died here trapped under the smoking ruins of some fish-king’s palace. 

So instead, she grabbed Rose Tico’s wrist, and as the star destroyer punched through the building, right beneath the same floor they stood upon, Rey summoned her whole will and blasted through the window, half-praying, half-demanding the Force shield her and Rose. The pair flew through the glass and smoke and ash, and when their feet landed on the durasteel hull of the warship-turned-battering ram, they just kept running. 

It was like climbing a mountain, except the mountain was crumbling beneath them, pulling them backwards, and the mountain was actually an active volcano in the midst of an eruption, and the volcano had laser guns all across its craggy surface. (The lasers, thankfully, weren’t firing, because the soldiers who typically manned them had taken shelter across various parts of the ship, wondering why in the hell their Supreme Leader wanted to perform a ramming action instead of literally anything else.) But with Rey’s enhanced reflexes and psychic ability to throw debris out of the way, they climbed. Glowing scrap metal whizzed overhead, black soot choked their lungs, and a dozen spark showers scalded their limbs. Rey couldn’t hear anything but the roar of concrete and metal tearing themselves apart, a constant churn that blocked out all instinct except to 1. Keep Rose Safe. and 2. Just Keep Moving. 

So she did both, and when they finally reached the T-shaped command bridge, the star destroyer ground to a halt. The stop jolted them, and they collapsed onto the ship’s hull at a twenty-degree angle, gasping for breath, buzzing with adrenaline, amazed that they weren’t smashed flat under Ren’s colossal ego. 

Rey flipped over onto her back and looked down at the ruined palace. Not that there was much left to see. The star destroyer ploughed a furrow through the whole city, crashing through many support platforms, allowing the ocean beneath Dac City to spring up in a dozen separate places. In a few hours, the star destroyer would find itself floating amid the flotsam of the Mon Calamari civilization. 

A pang of sorrow hit her soon after Rey realized the whole city was collapsing. Leia was down there too. She hadn’t even thought about her master, she just grabbed Rose and ran, out of pure survival instinct. When she reached out with the Force to try and find her, all she could detect was the thousands of suffering beings screaming into the void, raw and painful as an exposed nerve. Rey couldn’t search for long without a searing pain in her temples, so she withdrew her feelings and hoped against hope that Leia was alive. The old woman was a tough sack of nails, but even she couldn’t survive a direct hit from a star destroyer. 

Rey had little time to mourn. Rose was shaking her arm with increasing urgency. She turned her head, as if in slow motion, to see what she was trying to say.

But a jolt of understanding blocked out any other sensation when she looked up at the bridge at a figure in black. 

Ren looked down at her with an expression that could almost be pity. He ignited his lightsaber, and with infuriating casualness, began his stroll down the starship’s hull. 

“Rose,” Rey said, “could you give me and Ben some privacy?”

Taking the cue, Rose scrambled back down the inclined star destroy, shouting Finn’s name into her commlink. 

Ren snorted at the mechanic’s retreat. “It won’t do her any good, you know. This whole city will be at the bottom of the ocean by nightfall.”

“If you’re not careful, you’ll find yourself in a similar position.” Rey steadied herself against the angled surface of the ship and activated her saberstaff behind her back. 

For a moment, Ren’s cool, collected mask slipped at seeing the new weapon. In spite of herself, Rey had a flickering hope that he’d comment on her ingenuity. But all he did was sneer and say “This is your last chance. Don’t make me destroy you.” 

She spat at her feet. “Does it feel nice to quote your grandfather? Those words are the only fraction of his legacy you’ll ever inherit.” 

Then their respective hatred surged, and they clashed in a purple blur of sparks. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one's late but i sorta got carried away

A lightsaber duel is much like a game of Earth’s Northwestern Hemisphere Football. It involves much more strategy and finesse than one simply observing the sport would assume. Each swing is a measured play, every parry, a coordinated defense. The struggle requires a great deal of planning, restraint, expertise, and cunning. One false move, and one of the competitors could be forever paralyzed. Even years of training and the best medical technology are not necessarily enough to protect a player from the sheer grind, the multiple concussive forces slamming one’s brain against their own skull. 

Fans of Northwestern Hemisphere Football would claim that this danger is part of the sport’s appeal, what makes each desperate play exciting. Anyone who’s been in a lightsaber duel knows that it’s far more art than bloodsport, that when two masters fight, it’s more like a conversation than a battle, and arguably, neither need be in any danger at all. 

To the untrained eye, however, it just looks like people beating the shit out of each other. 

Initially, Rey was surprised at how easily she took control of the battle. She’d spent so long practicing with her staff in the deserts of Jakku, she found it took little adjustment to her fighting style to make the double-bladed saber work just as well. Once she properly changed her grip, it was a simple matter to become a whirlwind, striking in sweeping arcs, sliding through Ren’s guard to reverse the blade and bring its opposite end back at his face. She’d fought Ren only once before, and observed his style once after that, but to her Force-enhanced intuition, it seemed rudimentary, childish, even, the way he relied so heavily on his own physicality to punch through her defense. By contrast, she was a river, flowing around his brutish stabs, surging to sting him as soon as he overextended, forcing a sudden twist or leap to save himself from dismemberment. 

When they broke apart, Rey’s blood pounded in her ears, and could hardly stifle the glee building in her chest. By contrast, Ren had to lean his left hand on his knee, gasping for breath as the chaos of battle rumbled overhead. She flashed him a mirthless smile. “Tired already, Supreme Leader?”

Despite the scowl, Ren looked almost pleased. “You’ve grown much stronger. I wasn’t expecting you to provide a challenge.”

“Underestimating your enemy tends to get you cut in half.” Rey whirled her saberstaff over her head and brought it down in an exaggerated slash. Ren only barely managed to deflect the blow and stagger backward, stumbling nearer to the Star Destroyer’s edge. 

“On the contrary, I never underestimated you.” He was still smiling, and it made Rey’s vision tinge red. “I only thought you would need my guidance to reach your full potential.” 

She leveled her blade at him, daring him to make a move. But he just stood there, panting, pleased as electro-punch. “What the hell are you going on about?”

To her surprise, he simply gestured at her with an open palm. “Look at yourself. You’ve fully given in to the Dark Side.” He spat off the edge of the spaceship. “Your old master would be so disappointed, but even he would have to admit you’re far more powerful when you lean into hate.” 

That hit Rey like a sack of bricks. “I’ve done no such thing. I’m not surprised you don’t understand the difference between craving revenge and demanding justice.”

“And I  _ am _ surprised you don’t recognize they each spring from the same root, that righteous anger that gives you permission to burn down the world.” He was no longer smiling, though his lips remained curled. That sneer, so full of contempt and disgust, made Rey grip her lightsaber tighter. 

And she couldn’t help but notice the durasteel surface of the starship was beginning to peel beneath her feel. 

Ren noticed it too, and barked out something approximating laughter. “See? You have so much anger inside you, so much resentment and fury, that it doesn’t matter how you use it. You’re a volcano, a landmine, a collapsing star, Rey from nowhere.” 

He took a step forward, suddenly standing tall and no longer fatigued. Instinctively, Rey stepped back. 

“You have so much power, yet no control. And when you finally hit your breaking point, when your life comes crashing down around you, you won’t know what to do but to let out all your anger until it turns the world to ash.” Ren continued walking, his confidence carrying him like a propulsion engine, and Rey realized she was frozen. 

“That’s not true,” she said, barely audible. Yet even as she said those words, she didn’t believe them. Ren had few extraordinary gifts, but the one thing that made him unique was his ability to peer into the hearts of others. And in her blind anger, he’d been able to look straight through her, see directly into that molten core that powered her will to live this past year. 

And knowing that only Ben could see her at her most vulnerable made her furious. 

Cracks stretched out on the Star Destroyer’s deck, flinging chunks of metal down to the waves below. Fire burned in every pore in Rey’s body, and if she didn’t extinguish it, it would burn until all the oxygen in her body was smoke. 

She could neither contain the flame nor put it out. So instead, as Ren began another assault, she raised her left arm and released it. Lightning raced from her fingertips, thunder boomed from her palms. Ren dropped to the floor at the last second, laughing wildly. 

“Yes! Accept your hatred! And now, Dark Jedi, just try and strike me down!” 

Rey cut the flow of energy from her fingers, startled. Not by the act itself-- everyone knew the Force could maniflow fest in strange ways. But by the sheer ecstasy of the moment, the raw power at her command-- It felt incredible. And she needed to feel it again. 

She looked at Ren, flopped on the deck of the star destroyer like a fish out of water. It was pathetic. Even as he laughed and cajoled her, his forehead was slick with sweat, and his breaths came fast and ragged. It sickened her. This boy, the heir apparent to Darth Vader, egging her on as if he were some sort of Sith mastermind. 

This was the person who took Han Solo and Luke, and possibly even Leia, the only older people who gave a damn about Rey. And for what? So he could give dramatic monologues while facedown in the middle of a disaster of his own creation? 

Inside her, the Force no longer rippled. Gone was the gentle flow of life, and her acceptance of one’s individual niche in it. Perhaps a different Rey accepted that way of living. But no more.

She placed herself in the center of the Force, and ordered it to flow around her. She wasn’t a ripple in a pond, she was a whirlpool in the ocean. 

And by God, she would swallow Kylo Ren whole. 

He had barely staggered to his feet when she bade the Force smite him. Lightning blazed from her palm once more, striking him square in the chest. The world seemed to sharpen, colors blazed with new intensity. With each bolt she whittled away a piece of his life force, and it only served to make her stronger. 

Astonishingly, Ren did not defend himself. By contrast, he remained standing, allowing her lightning to strike him over and over again. Yet as the force warped and sizzled the metal around them, Ren himself seemed untouched. Rather, the lightning flickered around him, burning his cape and tunic, but only dancing across the surface of his pale chest. 

He began to cackle, high-pitched and cruel. Then he leveled his saber at Rey, daring her to engage once more. Happily, she obliged. 

Lightning crackled through the pommel of her saberstaff, and she came at Ren in an electric whirlwind. Thunder rang with each clash of their swords, sparks flew off the side of the ship in great orange showers. For every blow Ren deflected, Rey hit him with two more, several punching instantly-cauterized scratches in his arms and legs. Her speed, her tenacity, her anger, all of these things gave her the advantage in this fight. 

And yet, she was losing. 

It felt like Ren’s Force shadow was gaining density, like he was drawing strength from Rey’s furious assault. Each wound only gave him more drive, deepened the manic pleasure in his eyes. Rey could feel her own strength waning, exhausted from the effort of throwing her whole being into the attack. The tide needed to be turned soon. 

Summoning every ounce of strength left in her body, she pointed her saber at Ren like a lance and willed an enormous burst of lightning through its tip. The deck below them began to glow red from the heat of the thing, but again, Ren was unphased. Instead, he simply raised his free hand and received the energy, balling it in his hand. Rey could see the blue sphere reflected in his eyes, and despair began to creep up her spine. 

“You are so close, Rey. You’re on the very precipice of greatness.” As he spoke, Rey’s balled-up Force lightning unspooled itself and began to sizzle across his body. He smiled at her, shirtless and crackling with magical fire. “You just need a final push. I told you I can show you the ways of the Force.” He extended a hand half-blue with energy. “Rey, please. Don’t waste your potential. Don’t throw your life away for a worthless cause.” 

Rey could only stand still, mind racing. Was this really all she was capable of? Even tapping into the Dark Side of the Force, Ren was so much more powerful. No matter how many friends and mentors he stole from her, no matter how much she wanted that grief and rage to translate into power, he was always there, one step ahead, mocking her. Perhaps he was right. It did seem that his knowledge always eclipsed her own. All her hard work and suffering was nothing in the face of his years of training and inborn talent. You could be the fastest podracer in the galaxy, and you still couldn’t outspeed a Corellian cruiser. 

But just because she would lose this fight didn’t mean it was not a fight worth having. 

“Go to hell.” 

Ren sighed. Then he blasted Rey with a Force lightning bolt that plowed a furrow into the spaceship’s hull and sent the young Jedi crashing into the command bridge. 

#

Rose had watched the whole duel play out from the safety of the palace’s remains. It was fascinating, exciting, even. Just like in the old stories about the Jedi knights of old. A real life lightsaber fight! The years of war and loss had carved a deep cynical streak into Rose’s bones, but part of her that idolized the Rebellion and its old heroes couldn’t help but watch starry-eyed at the battle taking place. 

At first, Rose was breathless, astonished by Rey’s prowess. The woman knew how to work that staff, and it was all she could do not to cheer each time she knocked Kylo Ren to the ground. Furthermore, seeing Rey’s toned arms and supreme confidence, all while holding a sword, was nothing short of erotic. Rose didn’t have a lot of time to pursue love, and having been rejected by Finn, it wasn’t as if her ego remained intact. But seeing this duel play out, Rose wondered what it might be like to have Rey’s hands gripped tight around her waist instead of a lightsaber. 

As things often did for Rose, they turned. She couldn’t make out what words were exchanged between the space wizards. But she didn’t have to once magic lightning started arcing across the sky. 

It was strange, seeing dark magic like that. Rose had heard legends of the Force, and knew that traditionally, lightning was a spell only used by genocidal freaks. Yet, seeing Rey’s face scrunched up in fury, illuminated by blue and white flashes, Rose found that hard to believe. It was terrifying, true, but in the way that watching a bonfire is terrifying, or setting off a particularly big firework. Sometimes with beauty, that element of danger makes it all the more appealing. 

But the show had to end, and that sick feeling Rose got in the pit of her stomach right before something terrible happened began to bubble. The bolts grew thinner, the thunder deadened as Rey threw herself at Ren, who seemed to relish in his ass being kicked. Even with electricity frying his sweaty torso, his smile grew wild. 

Then he threw Rey clear across the battleship, and before Rose knew what she was doing, she was on her feet, racing toward her. 

She knew it was stupid. More than likely she’d be Force-thrown off the spaceship to her death. But she couldn’t do nothing. Rose kept her eyes focused on the form of Rey, curled into a ball at the base of the command bridge, and ran until her lungs burned. 

It was no use. Ren got to her first, grabbing her by the neck and lifting her limp body into the air. She could barely make out his words over her labored breathing, but as she sprinted closer, she heard him say, “You will learn many things from me. But foremost of all, you should learn your place.” 

That was all Rose needed before a curtain of red misted over her vision. She drew her pistol and squeezed the trigger until the barrel smoked. A dozen orange blaster bolts whizzed toward Ren, and then stopped midair, as if they’d thought better of their mission, and decided instead to remain put. 

_ Ah fuck. _

Rose was lifted from her feet and whizzed toward the Supreme Leader, who caught her by the throat as well. He looked between the two women, chuckling. “My, my. The Resistance seems to have a never-ending supply of brave but stupid recruits. ”

“Eat shit you incel f--”

Ren slammed her to the ground, and Rose’s vision went black for a moment. It was a nice reprieve, all things considered. 

When she came to, she heard Rey weakly mutter, “Rose.” She tried to sit up, couldn’t, and discovered a black boot pinning her chest to the ground. Ren loomed over her, saber ignited, with its crackling red blade inches from her head. 

“Stop.” 

To Rose’s surprise, Ren didn’t decapitate her. Not immediately, at least. “And why would I do that? Surely the death of one Rebel soldier is not enough to shake the great Rey.” 

Impervious to his taunts, Rey grabbed the wrist around her throat, squeezing it with as much strength as she could muster. Rose tried to signal her, tried to think loudly so Rey’s Jedi mind shit could hear her saying “Stop, please, this isn’t worth it.” 

But Rey thrashed against Ren’s vice grip, and he smirked all the while. 

“Little soldier girl, have you heard of my powers?” 

Rose struggled not to show fear, but being addressed directly by this asshole did have a chilling effect. She didn’t say anything, instead glanced around for a sharp bit of metal she could shove into his calf. 

As villians loved to do, Ren continued his monologue. “I have mastered the Force in such a way that I can use it to pierce the thoughts of those around me. As such, I can tell when my enemies experience a heightened state of emotion.” He chuckled softly to himself. “I can practically read the minds of anyone around me. And I can tell that just as your savior begs for your life out of misplaced emotion, you’re frozen with fear.” 

Rose didn’t know what he was talking about, but as long as he kept blathering, they remained alive. So she uttered the one line that was guaranteed to keep a man talking. “You’re wrong.” 

Instantly, the pressure on her chest vanished. Ren tossed Rey to the floor, turning his ire fully upon Rose. “What would you know of the Force? You’re a soldier, with no knowledge of things beyond who tells you what to shoot.” Color rose in his cheeks, flecks of spittle began to fly from his mouth as his rant escalated. “How dare you deign to question my power? I have brought planets to their knees. I have broken governments, slain warlords. I am the most powerful being in the galaxy!” With a flick of his wrist, Rose found herself hovering in the air once more. Ren had his blade at the ready, it’s crimson tip inches from her sternum. “And now, you will pay the price for--” 

A familiar roar blocked out the last of his threat before a barrage of quad lasers rent the metal around them. Rose slammed into the ground, but this time when she raised her head, hope burst in her heart. 

Hovering overhead was the unmistakable disc-shape of the  _ Millenium Falcon. _ And inside its transparisteel cockpit was her seven-foot roommate who might just save their lives. Sometimes it paid to sleep in. 

“Chewie!” She screamed, as if he could hear her. “Get us out of here!” Ren was flat on his back several feet away. If they had a chance to escape, it was now. 

Rose scrambled to reach Rey’s crumpled body. The poor girl was half-conscious, but still breathing. Every so often her eyes would flutter open, and she’d mumble something inaudible, which, for the moment, was a good thing. Unfortunately, Rose was not blessed with Rey’s toned musculature or her impressive height, so she made do with slinging the Jedi’s arm over her shoulder and dragging her very slowly to the area where the  _ Falcon  _ was extending its ramp. 

They almost made it, too, when Rose saw Kylo Ren’s arm shoot straight up in the air, closed into a fist. At the gesture, the  _ Falcon  _ began to groan and shudder. Rose looked up, horrified. The white-gray walls of the cruiser were being crushed by an invisible force. Spiderweb cracks raced across the cockpit. Sparks fizzled out of exhaust vents. In seconds, the ship would be balled up into a very famous wad of metal. 

“Chewie, go!” Rose screamed. It was no use. Either the Wookie couldn’t hear her, or Ren’s pompous ass was right, and there was no way they could escape the grasp of the most powerful being in the galaxy. 

_ I guess there are worse ways to die than being choked by a shirtless Kylo Ren _ . 

Then the sound of crunching metal stopped, and the fourth surprise of the day came marching out of the palace’s smoking ruins. 

Covered in dust, blood smeared on her temple, General Organa strode up the inclined Star Destroyer. Behind her hovered pieces of metal and chunks of building, floating in the air as if they’d realized who they had almost crushed, and in their apologetic haste to get out of the way, jumped clear into the air. She walked stiffly, and wore a grim, tight-lipped expression, but she walked without hurry or concern. Ever the royal, even in the middle of a big flaming disaster, she carried herself with dignity, with the air of someone who knew she could make the world revolve around her. 

Rose didn’t have time to stare. A soft *clunk* behind her reminded her of the ramp. When she looked up into the ship, she saw three metallic faces staring back at her. Somehow Chewie had the presence of mind not only to come to their rescue, but to gather C3PO, R2D2, and BB8 into the cargo hold before he did so. If they got out of atmosphere alive, she’d by that bastard the strongest liquor this side of the Core. 

With the help (okay, not that much help) of 3PO, Rose dragged Rey up the ramp and into one of the ship’s small beds. Before going back to help the General, Rose paused, staring down at her unconscious comrade. She looked so small, so peaceful compared to the ferocious warrior she’d seen minutes before. A pang of sorrow throbbed inside Rose. She understood, in a way. Sleep was the only way she could escape her worries too. 

When Rose ran back down the ramp, she realized there really wasn’t a lot she could do to back up the General. Moral support is all fine and good, but as her previous ass-kicking established, Rose was not equipped for a fight against sci-fi psychics. So she just clenched her fist and watched the exchange play out. 

It did not last long. Exhausted from his fight with Rey, Ren could barely bring himself to his feet. He raised both his arms this time, summoning all his dark magic to try and squish the General like an insect under his boot. Perhaps something like regret or conflict slumbered behind his dark eyes. But when you’ve already chopped up one parent, Rose found it hard to harbor sympathy for the Supreme Leader. 

Leia seemed unaffected. She merely reached out an outstretched palm and shook her head. “Ben. I don’t want to hurt my son.”

For a second, Ren fumed, seething with such intensity that veins bulged from his grime-covered brow. He strained audibly, growling and groaning as the air vibrated with the strength of his effort. 

Then Leia sighed, curled her palm into a fist, and punched it forward. Ren flew through the air like an out of control landspeeder, fading from sight as the black speck of his body sped further from the crashed ship. 

And that was that. General Organa turned to Rose, who stood there slack-jawed, and winked. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Once in the cockpit, Leia slid into the copilot’s seat next to her old friend. “Good of you to show up, you big carpet.”

Chewie rolled his eyes and uttered something in Shyriiwook that made the General laugh.

“Fair enough. Have you located my favorite pain in the ass?”

He nodded, then pressed a few buttons on the command console. The voice of Poe Dameron came through the speakers, exhilarated. “Goddamn Chewie, have you seen a better day for hunting Imperials? Me and Finn just took out our twentieth TIE Fighter. Helps we’re flying one of our own modified TIEs, but I’m adding these to my record.” 

In response, Chewie trilled, transmitted some coordinates, and began to prep the ship for hyperspace. 

“I read you buddy. As long as you’ve got the others, let’s cut our losses and run like hell.” 

And that was it. The planet below them burned, fire raining down from a hundred starships whose only order was to subdue their enemy through violent means only. Buildings crashed into a steaming ocean, and even in the safety of the  _ Falcon _ , it seemed like screams of the dying were inescapable. Rose couldn’t fully relax until starlines blurred around them, but once they fell into the comforting rhythm of hyperspace travel, she practically collapsed in her seat. 

They’d survived. Just barely. But they were alive.

As for the rest of the Resistance? They weren’t going to drop out of hyperspace to check frequencies, but Rose didn’t bother bringing the subject up. They’d only been able to slip out unnoticed because the rest of the First Order was butchering their friends. Rose shuffled back to check on Rey, wondering if the people on this ship were the last in the galaxy willing to keep fighting against Kylo Ren’s death machines.

She heaved a depressed sigh and sat down next to Rey. She hadn’t woken. Rose was grateful for that at least. Someone would have to tell Rey that everything was fucked, and Rose didn’t want it to be her. 

A tingle in her stomach prompted Rose to reach out with trembling fingertips and tuck a loose strand of hair behind Rey’s ear. Her fingers remained, and Rose traced the curve of Rey’s jawline, wondering what things might have been like if the two of them hadn’t been born into a decades-long war with no discernible reason besides stupid mens’ ambition. Perhaps they could have been something more. 

It didn’t matter now. They were the last surviving members of a lost cause. And if they wanted to make all this bloodshed mean something, they couldn’t waste a moment dreaming about what could have been. 


	8. Chapter 8

It was awfully convenient, Finn mused, that someone jammed a hyperdrive onto a captured TIE fighter, only to have to make an escape in the very same spaceship weeks later. It was almost as if the universe had a grand plan, a design that needed Finn’s continued survival to fulfill some unknown purpose, and until that need was met, things would just fall into place for him. It was nice, knowing the Force or God or whatever was looking out for him.

  
However, God sorta fucked the wampa with all the other shit going on in the galaxy. While he’d enjoyed every second he’d spent with Poe, zipping around and fighting the First Order just like the first time they met, it had become increasingly clear to Finn that no one was looking out for the Resistance. Ren felt so confident in his position that he was willing to throw away a whole Star Destroyer just to make a point. He’d seen his fair share of combat, and even from the moving vantage point of a TIE fighter, he could tell when a battle was turning into a massacre.

  
Poe felt it too. Once they broke atmosphere and zipped into hyperspace behind the Millennium Falcon, they both slipped into an uncomfortable silence. Finn wanted to say something, to point out that they probably saved a dozen rebel pilots just now. But the words turned to ash in his mouth. Anyone who didn’t have the brains to fleet the planet was likely already dead. The First Order rarely took prisoners.

  
Sitting back to back in the TIE’s cockpit, he couldn’t get a clear look at Poe’s face, only occasionally catching glimpses of it in the glass’ reflection. His stubble-covered jaw was clenched tight, eyes focused but pained, rimmed with red.

  
Seeing Poe so utterly defeated dropped a weight into Finn’s stomach. For his faults, Poe had dedicated years of his life to the Resistance. While General Organa was still the heart and sole of the operation, Poe was its de-facto leader ever since he’d got them out of Ren’s trap on Crait. Finn tried to put himself in Poe’s mindset and didn’t like the feeling he discovered.

What becomes of a leader when all their followers are killed?

  
“Hey,” he ventured, immediately feeling stupid. “That was some great flying.” He wanted to die. What kind of numbskull tells the best pilot in the galaxy that they fly real good?  
“Thanks,” came Poe’s hollow reply. “Just like old times, right?”

It hurt so badly to see Poe’s reflection try to fake a smile. The muscles moved the way they were supposed to, but it was a tortured thing.

  
Enough of this bullshit. “Poe… are you okay?”

  
It came out a lot more vulnerable than he’d meant to sound, but after an hour of desperate combat while their world fell apart, Finn was feeling pretty fucking vulnerable right now. He had to swallow against the swelling feeling in his own throat. Hold it together man, one breakdown is enough for today.

  
The silence stretched on interminably. Then--

  
“Finn, can I be honest with you?”

  
His heart slammed against his ribcage. He tried to swallow, but found his mouth was dry. “Of course.”

  
Poe heaved a sigh that broke Finn’s heart. “Earlier today… at the meeting. Rose and I were fighting about leadership.”

  
Had that been today? Finn vaguely recalled it, but it felt like the argument was from last week.

  
“I don’t remember why we started yelling at each other. But she ended up talking about how I get people killed.” Poe spoke slowly, with the cautious pacing of a person just coming to understand their own thoughts. “I couldn’t get that out of my head, even just now while we were flying. I know she was just angry.” His voice wavered. When Finn looked into the reflection in the glass, he found Poe’s face staring back at him. “But I don’t think she’s wrong.”

  
His first instinct was to deny. “Poe, that’s ridiculous. You’ve gotten us out of more scapes than I can count. You saved me from the First Order!”

  
“We’re about even on that one.” Poe turned back around, obscuring his face once more. “But besides that, we’ve just barely skated by. Every mission had its risks, but after today… What was it all for?”

  
Finn’s second instinct was to pull the pilot into his arms, squeeze him against his chest and hold Poe. Just like how Poe had cradled Finn earlier.

  
Was that this morning too? Time never made any sense.

  
But he couldn’t, sitting back to back in the tiny cockpit. So Finn just clenched his fists, forced to listen to his friend struggle alone.

  
“I never apologized about her sister.”

  
That hit Finn like a fist in the chest. “What?”

  
“Her sister. Paige. You probably never met her, she served on a StarFortress, when we still had those. The Hammer, I think. I, uh…” Poe broke off, grasping at words. “God, you weren’t even awake yet, after your duel with Ren. I ordered our whole bomber fleet into an engagement when I shouldn’t have. They took out a dreadnought, but a lot of good rebels died for it.” He took a shuddering breath. “Paige among them.”

  
A lot of pieces fell into place all at once. Finn had known Rose’s sister had fallen in the line of duty. He’d never really asked how. It seemed rude, a far too personal question even for one of his best friends. But when they’d held a small ceremony to honor Paige’s life a few months back, Finn didn’t realize it was exactly a year since the harrowing chase that resulted in the disaster at Crait. That certainly explained why Rose and Poe had never really seen eye to eye.

  
With the weight of this realization crashing down on his shoulders, Finn could only respond, “Oh.”

  
Poe let out a hollow laugh. “Yeah, I guess she wouldn’t have brought it up. She cares too much about the cause to let me ruining her family get in the way of the Resistance.” He paused. “Now there’s no Resistance left to devote her life to. I couldn’t blame her if she shot me dead the next time we meet.”

  
Finn didn’t know what to say. He wanted to be supportive. That’s what you’re supposed to do in these sorts of situations. Especially with people you’re romantically interested in.

  
But also, given the information he’d just learned, he didn’t have much of a reason to offer any encouraging words.

  
Poe was a leader. Finn knew that from the moment he met the man. Confident, talented, blessed with a natural charisma. Every quality one might want in an ideal administrator or commander, Poe had in spades.

  
And yet, Finn realized, Poe was the kind of person who ordered people to their deaths every day, oftentimes knowing they wouldn’t make it back. In war, that’s what it meant to be a leader.

  
Goosebumps raised every hair on his arms. Finn knew leaders like that. He looked up from the controls and for a moment, thought he saw a flash of chrome in the reflection of the transparisteel. Did it matter that Poe felt bad about it? Was Rose right about his incompetence? Or was that just the price of hierarchy, that in order to move mountains, an organization had to pick a person to crack the whip and watch everyone else push?

  
No. Poe bore responsibility for his actions. But in no galaxy was his mistake the same as Phasma’s cruelty.

  
“You gotta say something buddy, I exposed my feelings in a big way and I could really use some validation.”

  
That got Finn to laugh. “Well, after giving it some thought, I’ve decided not to blame you entirely for the end of the Resistance.”

  
Finn made out the sound of Poe’s tiny chuckle, and he wanted to keep that noise in a box and save it for a rainy day. “I’ll take it.”

  
“But,” Finn added, “You have to answer a question.”

  
“Of course.”

  
It was Finn’s turn to take a steadying breath. “When you sent Rose’s sister on that mission… Did she get a say in it?”

  
He felt Poe shift uncomfortably behind him. “What do you mean?”

  
“Like, if she didn’t want to do it, would you have let her stay behind?”

  
Poe didn’t respond immediately. “I mean… I don’t know if it’s that simple, Finn. In war, none of us really want to fight. But we all do, because we believe in the cause. Paige and Rose signed up with the Resistance knowing they could die. But it was really important to them, so they did it anyway.”

  
That wasn’t the answer Finn wanted. “But… when you have power over someone, don’t you have an obligation to ask if they’re okay with what you’re ordering them to do?”  
“I, uh…” Poe trailed off. “Oh, this isn’t really about Paige, is it?”

  
“I mean, it sort of is.”

  
In the reflection, Finn could see Poe rubbing the bridge of his nose. Something about the gesture filled him with a sense of sympathy and dread. The poor man had been through enough today without having to relieve his greatest failures. But whatever knowledge he was about to drop on Finn was, apparently, going to be unpleasant.

  
“Being in charge of people, no matter if you’re commanding a squadron or being a parent, it puts you in a weird situation. Because if you elevate someone over everyone else, if we agree that this one person gets to make the rules and choices, it’s reasonable to think that means that that person is better or more important than the people they’re commanding.” Poe frowned. “Or parenting, I guess.”

  
“But that’s not true. We just delegate autonomy because it’s efficient, it helps organizations run smoothly. It’s sorta like paying taxes or waiting in line. It’s kind of a bummer, but it helps make sure things get done. The problem comes when, like you’re saying, that the person at the top of the hierarchy starts to let their nice view go to their head. Like when a parent tells a child to do what they say just because they’re the parent and that’s how it is. Maybe there’s some internal logic behind it, and oftentimes it’s easier to say that than have a 15 minute discussion about how your kid needs to chill, but in a perfect world, both leader and follower consent to their unequal relationship with the mutual understanding that this cooperation will lead to an overall good.”

  
Finn nodded, a little taken aback by the wild amount of theory Poe just pulled entirely out of his ass. Not really the conversation he was looking for, but Poe had built up too much steam to stop now. Besides, it seemed to take his mind off their fucked-ness. His voice fell into that steady cadence he used when describing an operation, he began to articulate clearly as if speaking to a room full of people instead of an audience of one. For all his faults, Poe was a natural leader. Finn couldn’t help but be proud of that.

  
“What I’m trying to say is that good leaders aren’t the kind of people who demand their followers get hurt for them. They ask their followers if they’re willing to do dangerous things, and then do the best they can to ensure their safety. A soldier trusts their commander to make the right call, to order the smartest attack, to not sacrifice their life unless both of them agree it’s necessary. And in that case…” He trailed off. “I hope, in Paige’s case… That when she died, it was for something she was happy to give her life for.”

  
A tightness seized Finn’s chest. And when investigated, he realized it was not sorrow, but anger, that gripped him. “And what if the follower isn’t given a choice? What if they’re told, ‘Kill them, or I’ll kill you?’”

  
“Well, Finn,” Poe said, leaning back against the chair and folding his hands behind his head, “That’s called forced conscription, and it’s a war crime.”

  
Finn snorted. He wasn’t sure if that made him feel better, but Poe did have a point. Leaders fuck up all the time. Sometimes those fuckups get people killed. But in the best-case scenario, you died for a dumb reason for a cause you gave a shit about.

  
“You should still apologize to Rose.”

  
Poe’s voice wavered. “I want to.”

  
“Then do it.”

  
“I’m scared.”

  
“Scared of what?”

  
“Being weak, I guess.” Poe scratched the back of his head. “If you say you’re sorry, you have to acknowledge you made a mistake. If I never say I’m sorry, it means the dreadnaught attack was the right move, and that those sacrifices were worth it.”

  
Finn swallowed. His throat was still tight, but speaking honestly with Poe lessened the pain somewhat. “I’ve been trained to kill my whole life man, but since I left the First Order, I don’t think I’ve watched anyone die for a cause that was really worth it. Ideas and philosophies, like all that Jedi mumbo-jumbo, was it worth the past sixty years of war?”

  
“Definitely not,” Poe conceded. “But I don’t think anyone really dies for a philosophy or a cause.”

  
“What?”

  
Poe turned around and leaned over in his chair. For the first time since they left the planet, Finn and Poe were face to face. Finn could feel his heart speed up like a podracer slamming into overdrive. There was so much sorrow behind Poe’s eyes, exhaustion carved notches into his cheeks. But he was still smiling, despite the very terrible day they’d just shared.

  
“If you choose to die for anything, you die for your friends.” Poe’s gaze was level and direct. Finn couldn’t escape the feeling that Poe was looking through him, into him, and it was electric.

  
Then a memory stirred.

  
“That’s how we’re gonna win,” he muttered.

  
“Huh?”

  
Finn shook his head. “Just something Rose said once.” He stared pointedly into the starlines streaking past, grateful for the break in eye contact. All of a sudden he’d become terribly sweaty. “Anyway, how long are we gonna be in hyperspace? I want to try to get a little rest.”

  
Finn felt Poe’s weight shift back to his side of the cockpit, and felt a simultaneous pang of relief and disappointment. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

  
“And where is there?”

  
In the reflection, Poe gave a little shrug. “Out near Byss, it looks like. Close to the center of the galaxy.” He barked a sarcastic laugh. “The General might just tell us to jump into the black hole. It would certainly save us all some trouble.”


	9. Chapter 9

Rose was relieved when they finally dropped out of hyperspace nearly a day later. She’d been on trips around the galaxy before, but never had the _Millennium_ _Falcon_ felt more like a prison than during the previous twenty four hours. Rey had still not woken from her post-battle slumber. Leia had murmured quietly with Chewbacca in the cockpit for a long time, occasionally laughing at a shared memory, but making little attempt to engage anyone else. 

That left Rose in charge of the droids. Poe’s round little BB unit was cute, to be sure, but she could only stare at the sphere’s bright colors from across a Holo-Chess board before getting a headache. R2D2 spent most of the time plugged into the ship, occasionally altering their flight path to avoid any possible Interdictor fleets prowling the galaxy to snatch them from slipstream. Plus, her Binary wasn’t excellent, and the old droid could be crabby on the best of days, so it was best to leave him to his fiddling. 

That left, of course, General Organa’s faithful protocol droid, who proved both a font of wisdom and a constant source of anxiety. Rose never had the opportunity to ask C3PO about his previous history with various Galactic events, and thought hearing the droid reminisce might take her mind off their bad prospects for the future. Unfortunately, 3PO’s perfect memory was impaired by a constant need to reiterate the extremely shitty situation they found themselves in, and Rose’s already mismanaged anxiety shot through the roof. 

“Yes, when Han Solo flew us out of the mouth of that space worm I thought we would surely perish!” C3PO said in his typical high-pitched cadence. “But now, even without a hungry asteroid monster behind us, I fear the worst has already taken place.” 

“Damnit 3PO,” Rose said, “that was a good story until you had to go and bring up how hosed we all are! Can’t you just ride a wave of bittersweet nostalgia for a while?”

“I’m afraid not, Ms. Tico. It would go against my programming to forget about the severe danger we are currently in.” His fluorescent eyes pointed downward, seemingly ashamed of his indiscretion. “It’s a curse, really, always knowing just how bad everything is.” 

“When you put it that way, it really is a bummer. Who programmed you to be such a masochist?” Before the robot could respond, she remembered. “Ah yeah, that does make sense.” 

Apparently eager to change the subject, C3PO said, “Shall I go and check on Ms. Rey once more? She has been asleep for over twenty-four hours, surely someone ought to tell her we’ve arrived.” He stiffly rose from a bench, then added, “Or at least flip her over. If she stays flopped on her side she will get terrible bedsores.” 

Rose hesitated. Her first instinct was to volunteer to check up on Rey. Her second instinct was to remember that all people who you look up to or care for in this life will either leave you or die horribly, and she should just let the damn robot look after the Jedi. 

Longing tugged in the pit of her stomach, however, and it proved much stronger than Rose’s lifetime of cynicism. Perhaps it was the desperation that came with knowing you were the subject of a galaxy-wide manhunt, and had, at best, weeks to live. Better shoot her shot now before the First Order ground her up and fed her to an acklay. 

“I’ll take care of it 3PO.” She laid a hand on the droid’s shoulder, not missing the disappointed slump as soon as she spoke. “Why don’t you check up on R2? He’s been alone for a while, and I thought I heard him make one of those super sad noises he does when he’s depressed.” 

Instantly, 3PO perked up. “An excellent suggestion Ms. Tico. I shall look into the matter imminently.” Without further ado, he shuffled away. Rose couldn’t help but smile. Droids and humans were terribly similar. Sometimes, we just want to feel useful when the world’s crashing down around us. She got up and headed toward the rear of the ship, both hopeful and terrified. 

Rey laid exactly as Rose left her, asleep on her left side, still covered in soot and blood from Mon Cala. Gently, Rose brushed a finger along a smudge on Rey’s cheek, struggling not to tremble. “Rey,” she called, quietly, not truly wanting to wake her. Would it be so bad if the two of them just stayed like this? Just enjoying the silence, not constantly busting their asses to make it out of alive in this universe designed to grind them down? Rey had certainly earned her rest. Rose wished she could find that same blissful look Rey wore in her sleep. Maybe it was worth getting fried by magic lightning bolts if it would guarantee 8 uninterrupted hours of not being conscious. 

But wishful thinking wouldn’t pull them through the next few terrible days. They needed to rally and figure out what the hell to do now. And to do that, they needed Rey’s help. Rose shook Rey’s arm, a little more forcefully this time. “Please, Rey. It’s time to get up.” 

After a moment, Rey’s eyes fluttered open. She looked up at Rose, and to her surprise, beamed. “Hi,” she said, lids still half-closed. “Was I out long?” 

A rush of color burned into Rose’s cheeks. Rey’s voice, still heavy with dreams, brought a rush of romantic images to her mind, none of which she wanted the Jedi to sense. “About a day,” she said, turning to hide her face, pretending to examine a light fixture. “How do you feel?” 

“Not great,” Rey said, pushing herself to an upright position. “Can’t say I’ve been worse. Did Finn make it out okay?”   
“Finn, Poe, us, Leia, Chewie, and the droids.” Rose ticked the surviving members of the Resistance off on her fingers, and winced when she realized how painfully small those numbers were. “That’s all that’s left.” 

Rey nodded. “I see.” She stared into the middle distance, lips moving with words inaudible to Rose, then stepped shakily off the bench and onto the  _ Falcon’s _ floor. After a few seconds of uncertainty, Rey remembered her footing, and, leaning on various pieces of furniture, began to stumble her toward the front of the ship. Despite her unsteady gait, she still managed to fling her arm out behind her, forcing Rose to duck as the hilt of Rey’s saberstaff sailed through the air. 

“Hey, what the hell?” Rose scrambled to keep pace with Rey’s wobbling. “What are you doing?”

“This ship should still have an escape pod, right?”

Rose groaned. Fucking Jedi, always storming off to save the galaxy without a pair of brain cells to keep them company. “What exactly do you think you’re going to do with a lightsaber and a shitty escape pod in the middle of nowhere? Do you even know what sector you’re in right now?”

That question gave Rey pause. “I don’t need to know. The Force will guide me.”

Christ on a bike. “Guide you into a black hole, maybe.” Rose didn’t know why she was suddenly so frustrated, but people rushing off to do big heroic things had always turned out poorly for her. “Can’t you just wait and talk it out with the rest of us?”

Rey shook her head. “I’ve spent too much time waiting for others. I’ve got to do this myself.” 

Rose surprised herself by grabbing the Jedi’s wrist. She hadn’t made the move consciously. It was more of an instinct, an irresistible demand. Rey didn’t tug away, instead, she almost jumped, as if the sudden action surprised her as well. 

Good to know Jedi were capable of such a thing as surprise. 

Their eyes met, and it was hard for Rose not to tremble in the face of Rey’s stony, determined glare. There was so much anger behind those eyes. But Rose was not going to let anyone pull hero stunts, not today. She responded with an even more furious expression. “Rey. Stay on this ship. I don’t know what we’re going to do next.” Goddamnit, she was dangerously close to letting genuine emotion stemming from personal experience show. Can’t have that. “But we need you, right now. We don’t need a noble sacrifice. We need  _ you. _ ” Her voice quavered with that final syllable, and Rose wanted to kick herself for it. 

The hair on the back of her arms stood up. The intensity of Rey’s thoughts, either consciously or not, were radiating throughout the hallway. Rose could actually feel the energy pulsing right beneath the surface of Rey’s skin, something so powerful and hungry that it made Rose want to flee to the nearest bathroom and wash her hands. But the longer she looked into Rey’s eyes, the more she knew she would never willingly let her go. She couldn’t. That face had seen too much abandonment already. 

Then Rose felt a warm hand press against the back of her outstretched one. Rey squeezed her wrist, not to break Rose’s grip, but in a tender way, the way one might pull their partner closer at night in the midst of a pleasant dream. Rose again became terribly warm, the heat pounding in her ears surely turning her whole face beet red. She let go of Rey, reluctantly, but not abruptly. She did not forget to notice the sensation of Rey’s fingertips trailing along the back of her hand as she withdrew. 

“Okay.” Rey did not smile, but the anger behind her eyes was gone, replaced with something unreadable. She heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, Rose. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Rose laughed. “You know, that’s the first time I’ve heard that.” 

“Heard what?”

“I’m sorry, I’m gonna think before I do literally anything.” She struggled not to flex her hand, still marveling at the brief moment of contact between the two of them. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but no one around here can chill out for any significant period of time.” 

“Comes with the territory, I suppose.” Rey rubbed her arm, looking embarrassed. “I just…” She trailed off. “Never mind.”

“No, what’s up?” Rose jumped on her hesitation. Maybe it was her state of heightened emotion, but she was loathe to let this moment pass and go about the grim business of tallying their losses. If Rey wanted to vent her insecurities, it would be that much more time detracted from cataloguing Rose’s own. 

“I…” Rey struggled for words. “I’ve been alone a long time, Rose. Practically my whole life, up until a year ago, was spent taking care of myself. I knew I could always depend on myself, because I had to. I had no other choice.”

That one was hard to hear. Nonetheless, Rose needed to hear it, and Rey needed to tell it. She nodded, eyes fixed on Rey’s frowning features. 

“So I have this instinct that says ‘Only you can fix this.’ That makes sense, right? I’ve never had people I can depend on before, it’s hard to shake the feeling of being alone in the galaxy.” Rey shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s stupid. But it is how I feel.”

Again, without thinking, Rose wrapped an arm around Rey’s waist and pulled her into an embrace. She squeezed, maybe too tightly for comfort, but Rose didn’t care. 

“Feelings are pretty stupid. But we can’t help but feel them anyway, right?”

Rey, with a little hesitation, accepted the hug, and pulled Rose closer into her. “Thank you.” 

They stayed like that for a while. Too long, probably, as C3PO came waddling down the hallway after a minute, wondering out loud what was taking them. Upon seeing the intimate exchange, he did as close to an approximation of a blush as a robot could emulate. Rose shot him a glare while thinking  _ Do you mind? _ as loud as possible. But for a protocol droid, 3PO possessed a remarkable lack of tact. “I apologize for interrupting your hug, but General Organa asked me to summon you. Commander Dameron and Lieutenant Finn have arrived.”

Reluctantly, Rose broke away from Rey and began to walk down the hallway. 

Until Rey caught her by the hand, and quickly locked her fingers between Rose’s. Without comment, she gave Rose’s hand a squeeze, and together, they went forth to speak with the General. 

Nine of them sat in the  _ Falcon’s _ living room. The droids hummed and whistled nervously, but the rest of them sat in silence, watching for Leia to give them a sign. She sat there, hands folded in front of her face as she leaned on the table, gazing straight ahead, lost in the turbulence of thought. 

A minute passed. Chewbacca eventually put his hand on General Organa’s shoulder. She nodded. 

“Well, kids. I think we have to kill my son.” 


End file.
